Hidden Lives
by HazelHibiscus
Summary: After immigrating to America in the hope for a better life, Ivan's reality of living a dangerous life is so different from the hopes he once had. What happens when Alfred, a friend from his "normal" life gets too close? Will Ivan and Alfred regain their hope, or will it be violently torn away? (RusAme, high school AU, tragic ending)
1. Of Meetings and Embarrassment

Hi peoples, thanks for clicking on this fic.

Throughout the whole time I was writing this story, it kept changing categories. From T to M; from romance/angst to romance/hurt/comfort to finally romance/tragedy. It kept jumping around cause I hadn't written the whole thing out, and didn't know what it _was_ exactly. Now that it's done, the categories are all completely correct (more or less) :)

This is kinda a sequel to my one-shot **Through the Broken Windows**, so you may want to read it as well.

Pairings: Eventual RusAme (probably, in any case it's about time I do a proper RusAme story seeing how much I love them 3)

Warnings: Cursing (I reserve the right to use bad words up to and including the f word); probably a bad demonstration of Catholic schools (its just going off the sterotypes I know, I don't think all Catholics are like this or anything. I don''t want to offend anybody); talk of violence; talk of drugs; and talk of sexual situations provided you catch the implied phrasing. Also, translations come after the foreign words in parentheses (sorry if translations are bad because I was using Google Translate, someone please correct me if I'm wrong).

Disclaimers: I got some of the inspiration for this story from **Contradicting Beliefs by SweeneyOCD98**, but the stories are not the same fundamentally. I also don't own Hetalia in any way, shape or form (unless having a serious obsession counts).

FYI: human names used

* * *

The truth is like a rose;

Beautiful, but watch out for the thorns.

-Rosebush

* * *

Ivan, as he always did, subconsciously ran a big hand through his thick hair as he read. He wasn't much of a talker, and when he did it was cryptic, so one had to rely on his body language to know his thoughts. Touching his hair was what Ivan did when he focused really hard, and it took all of his energy to keep his eyes on his English for Idiots book this late at night.

Ivan never talked much, but after coming to America last month, words rarely passed his lips because he was self-conscious of his English. While he had been learning English for the past few years, his thick Russian accent was still very prominent, saying 'v' instead of 'w' and strange syntax. The worst thing in Ivan's mind was his large and sloppy lettering that was more fitting for a fourth grader than an eleventh grader.

Much to his trepidation, tomorrow was his first day at his new American school, Blessed Cross. It was also the first time he had ever left Russia for a county that did not speak his mother tongue. That's why he was pouring over an English book late at night, trying to remember as much information as possible, so he would not make a fool of himself at school.

"Ivan," his older sister and guardian Katyusha said as she opened the door to his bedroom, "It's getting late and you have school tomorrow. Go to bed." She glanced down at the heavy book clutched in his sweaty hands, and a knowing look appeared on her face. "You're English is coming along well; you have nothing to worry about." She brushed back his long hair to kiss his forehead, "Xорошо спать (sleep well)." Katyusha had already left the room before she remembered to add, "And Ivan, you know Natalia and I are support you and your sexuality, but you may want to keep it to yourself at Blessed Cross. It's a really good Catholic school, and we can't afford to put you anywhere else."

Katyusha continued to talk, probably about how great Blessed Cross was, but Ivan was already lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. He'd completely forgotten about this particular problem. Between the obvious language and cultural barrier, there was also the fact he was a gay guy at a Catholic school. Chances are that he would be the only out gay at the school. A pang of sadness shot through his chest with the though that after finally coming out of the closet in ninth grade, he would have to clamber back into it. But he had to keep it a secret to protect himself, being poor and Russian would create enough difficulty already; there was no need to add to it.

Based on the far-away look in Ivan's eyes, Katyusha could tell he wasn't listening to her anymore. With his mind still gone, she gave him a kiss on the top of the head and whispered, "это все в порядке (it's alright)," event though she knew he would not hear her.

As Ivan got ready for bed, he moved through his task as though he was a robot; his mind still on the new school. Even as he crawled into the bed between the thin sheets, Ivan's mind didn't stop whirling.

His two sisters had long since fallen asleep when Ivan was finally able to slide into its welcome embrace. Even though the noise bothered them the first week, they no longer even heard the blaring music; the suspicious thumping from another apartment; the drunken yelling; the breaking glass; the barking, growling dogs; and the occasional scream, yet alone be bothered by the sounds. But even as they slept, all kept a tight hand wrapped around a weapon, whether it was a knife, a pipe or a small gun.

* * *

The next day, as the bus arrived at school, Ivan's eyes widened as he looked upon the grand cathedral that stood as the focal point of Blessed Cross's school grounds. It was a beautiful, gray stone, gothic cathedral with high spinning spires. Ivan had heard stories about the beauty of the church, especially the stain glass windows that made many cry the first time they gazed upon their ethereal beauty. Normally places of worship made him nervous because he was not religious by any stretch of the mind, but Ivan was actually excited to go inside and explore the beautiful building.

As Ivan walked up to the actual school building, he may have maintained his childish smile, but he was actually shaking inside. Being 6'4" made him noticeably taller than everyone else causing Ivan to attract more attention than he wished, and his large frame only made him more conspicuous. But the only indication of his nerves was how he continued to hike his red plaid backpack higher and higher onto his broad shoulders and stroke the pale pink scarf his sister stitched for him many years ago with slightly sweaty fingers.

Ivan stood awkwardly in the hallway, jostled by kids pushing down the hall to find their old friends after a long summer break. He nervously studied the other kids as he tried to find the least frightening person to ask for directions to Father O'Connell's, the dean's, office.

Ivan felt a soft tapping on his shoulder and looked down to see a medium blonde haired boy with a strange curl and blue-violet eyes. "Hi, I'm Matthew Williams," he said quietly, extending a hand, "you must be new, do you need any help?" A relieved smile quickly replaced Ivan's creepy, childish one, and his larger hand surrounded the smaller boy's as he gave a firm handshake.

"Ivan Braginski. Actually yes, vhere is dean's office?" Ivan asked, his thick accent making him color slightly.

"Follow me," Matthew said, grinning pleasantly and walking off in the opposite direction Ivan thought he was supposed to go.

"Here it is," Matthew said, pointing to a dark wood door. "I couldn't help notice you're Russian, and I hate to sound rude and like I'm stereotyping, but do you play hockey by any chance? We really need more some more big, strong guys on the team."

A genuine smile covered Ivan's face at the prospect of playing his absolute favorite sport again, "I vould love to play."

"Awesome, I'll talk to you soon. Good luck with the Father O'Connell; he's... interesting..." Matthew said, hesitantly clasping Ivan on the shoulder. Ivan nodded in thanks and raised a heavy fist to knock on the door. "Come in," a wavering voice called from inside the office.

"Ah, you're that new Russian 11th grader." Father O'Connell's voice contained a slight amount of distrust in his tone, "Vladimir Braginski, correct?"

A flash of annoyance shot though Ivan at the uncaring ignorance of the Father. "No Father, my name is Ivan Braginski."

Father O'Connell shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive manner, "All those Russian names sound the same to me... Anyways, here is your class schedule, a school map and a list of extra-curriculars. I hope you enjoy attending to Blessed Cross."

After he left Father's office, Ivan kept his face pressed right against his map as he traversed the school building, only looking up irregularly to check room numbers. After looking all over school, he finally found the English classroom and hurried in with less than ten seconds until the bell rang. He stood quietly next to the door, looking at the mass of kids talking and laughing, and he felt again that he did not belong here.

A grandmotherly-looking nun, sensing his panic, gave him a comforting smile. "Everyone settle down!" She called to the class as the bell rang, the kids still making jokes and talking, "My name is Sister Christine, and we have a new student. Why don't you tell us about yourself? Your name, where you're from, favorite sport, since this is English class, what your favorite book is, and your favorite passage of the Bible."

Ivan opened his mouth to speak but shut it again as he translated what he was going to say from Russian into English. "Hello, my name is Ivan Braginski, and I lived in Moscov until last month. My favorite sport is... ice hockey. And my favorite book... My favorite book is Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky. And I have not read enough of the Bible to have a favorite passage."

"Thank you, Ivan, and by the end of the school year, you'll have a favorite. You'll have to sit in the empty seat in the back; sorry it's at an empty table," the Sister Christine told him with an apologetic smile.

As Ivan walked to the back table, he attempted to ignore the snickers and whispers that surrounded him like a dark cloud. He pulled his scarf up over his reddening cheeks in a vain attempt to hide bright blush that so obviously stretched over his pale cheeks. "Stupid commie, of course his backpack's red... Do you see that pink scarf? He must be gay... That bastard needs to learn English; he's in America now... Do you see his uniform? It doesn't even fit him..."

Ivan dropped his bag next to his chair, pulled his books out of his bag and gave a nervous smile to his only tablemate. "Vhy did she say this table vas empty vhen you are sitting here?" Ivan asked Matthew.

"Eh? People don't really see me," Matthew said sadly, "You're the first one to notice me."

Ivan gently patted him on the hand, "Comrades pay attention to each other, da?"

The corners of Matthew's lips turned upwards at the kind thought, "Yeah, comrades... friends."

Later in class, Ivan's head was spinning with all the new grammar. The class was reviewing the grammar they should have remembered from the past few years, and everyone was understand it, expect Ivan. Coordinating conjunction, conjunctive adverb, and more... He kept confusing them, the words sounded so similar, especially to foreign ears. "Okay Ivan," Matthew lectured, as Ivan twisted his fingers through his hair, "remember that conjunctive adverbs are used–"

"Ivan," the nun called sharply, "you haven't spoken this entire lesson. Give me an example of a sentence with a conjunctive adverb.

Ivan's already snowy skin paled to the color of glaciers in fear, "Sunflowers are beautiful, and field is warm, da?" The nun gave him a sad, slightly condescending look, as the class burst out laughing at both his mistake and his accent. They had been doing that all class with no chance of stopping anytime soon.

"No Ivan, that's a coordinating conjunction. Also, you keep skipping articles; work on that."

Besides Matthew, there was only one person who did not tease Ivan nor laugh at his mistakes. In fact he kept shooting Ivan apologetic looks that he wished he would see. _I really should do more than watch; I'm the hero,_ the golden-haired boy thought, as he slid lower into his seat in embarrassment. When the class started laughing at Ivan's latest mistake, the boy looked out the widow onto his ghetto that sprawled out under the hill of this good part of the city. He didn't want to see the way Ivan flushed as he pulled his slightly ragged scarf up over his nose. The boy didn't want to notice how cute the creeping rosiness that covered Ivan's ivory cheeks was; it was too dangerous a thought to have here.


	2. Of Fights and Friends

Warnings: Cursing (I reserve the right to use bad words up to and including the f word); a bad demonstration of Catholic schools (terribly sorry about that); talk of violence; and talk of drugs

Sorry if translations are bad because I was using Google Translate, someone _please_ correct me if I'm wrong.

Disclaimers: I don't own the normal Hetalia characters, but I own the OC's.

* * *

After waving goodbye and saying a comforting word to the stressed out looking Russian, Matthew ran all over Blessed Cross, searching very hard. He was trying to find his currently missing adopted brother, Alfred, so they could go home. Papa had already called Matthew twice in worry, even though Alfred disappearing was a normal occurrence.

Whenever Alfred thought about the Event that took place nearly two years ago, he would change from being bright and warm to sullen and withdrawn. He would disappear anywhere from a few hours to possibly a few days. Neither Matthew nor his Papa knew where Alfred went, though Matthew suspected he went back to his old intercity neighborhood and hung out with the kids he grew up with. Once or twice when Alfred left, he brought a black suit and some white lilies with him, and he came home a few hours later with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

After a good half-hour of searching, Matthew found Alfred outside the old gym nobody used, smashing a soccer ball with a huge amount of speed and force at the same brick over and over again. "I didn't know you played soccer," Matthew said softly, not wanting to surprise Alfred and activate his intense flight instincts that still existed from growing up around dangerous neighbors.

"It was my dad's favorite sport."

"Al, we need to go home. You know how much our Papa worries if we don't get back right home after school," Matthew stated.

"**Your** dad is just worries that I ran away from **your** home again," Alfred said with a slightly bitter tone. Matthew gave him a sad smile in response and tugged him towards the parking lot.

"Al, can you do me one favor?" Matthew asked as they hopped in the car.

"Sure, what can I do?" the golden blond said, brightening as his mind was pulled away from his horrific thoughts.

"Being the varsity quarterback, you're popular and people listen to you. Can you get people to stop picking on Ivan? He's nice, really, and being new is hard enough without the constant teasing."

"Totally, I'm the hero, Mattie. I never leave a person in need."

* * *

Later that week, around 10 o'clock, Ivan was getting ready for his job, going through the rounds of making sure he had all of the goods. He looked through his bag again, making sure he had everything for his best customer.

Normally Ivan doesn't do his own deliveries, after only a little more than a month he already has some runners for that, but this deal had a lot higher stakes. Much more money than normal, and much more danger; he didn't want to get cheated by the buyers, nor get one of his own killed if the deal went bad.

Being a big guy, deals rarely turned bad for Ivan, but on the rare cases they did, he was glad he had his weapons. He had a gun on his left hip, his pipe on his right and knives strapped to both his forearms. He had been in the game for years under Moscow's finest dealer. His first lesson was that if you wanted to survive, you had to be prepared to kill and have the means to do so.

Ivan walked quietly through the apartment, as though he was sneaking out, even though he knew his sisters were fully aware of what he did. By now, it was just a something Ivan did to avoid the guilty looks they gave him as he left the apartment. Katyusha was a bartender, but her salary alone was nowhere near enough for all three, so it was up to Ivan to keep the family afloat. The game had been part of his life for a long time, and while he hoped to abandon it when they moved to America, some things just can't be done.

Unknown to Ivan, his sister Natalia always watched him leave the apartment when he went to deals. As soon as she heard the door click shut and the bolt lock slide into the frame, she dashed to the small window that faced the front of the building to watch Ivan go out onto the street. Ivan pulled the black hood up over his head as he stepped off the doorstep, plunging his memorable face into shadows. He glanced both ways before continuing at a pace that appeared unhurried and innocent while actually containing a great deal dubious purpose.

When he disappeared from her vision, Natalia dropped to both knees and prayed for her brother, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down her face. She prayed fervently for his safety and for Ivan's soul; a soul he believed to already be damned, if it ever existed in the first place.

* * *

The teasing Ivan endured the past few weeks had finally died down slightly. He was almost positive people still mocked him behind his back, but at least now he didn't have to hear it all the time.

"Hey Ivan," Matthew called as he caught up to him in the parking lot, "I noticed you don't drive to school, so do you want to ride with my brother Alfred and I to the rink for practice?"

"I vould love to, Matthev," Ivan said, stumbling over the smaller teen's name.

"If Matthew is hard for you to say; just call me Matt," he said with a smile, leading Ivan to the car and jumping in the shotgun seat, as Ivan carefully sat down in the back.

Matthew immediately turned around in his seat to introduced Alfred and Ivan to each other before Alfred drove off. "Ivan Braginski, meet my brother… adopted brother, Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones," Matthew introduced as they shook hands; pure violet eyes appraising intense sky blue.

One of the first things Ivan noticed about Alfred was the thick silver band carved with some old Celtic looking design he wore on his right middle finger and the pained look that was almost hidden in his eyes. And one of the first things Alfred noticed about Ivan was the way the white-gold hair that nearly covered his eyes failed to shadow the dark and determined look that was present there. It was the same look Alfred's father's face used to bear.

"Thank you for getting our classmates to stop saying not kind things to my face," Ivan lengthily thanked.

"That's what heroes do," Alfred explained with a sunny smile and a shrug, "Besides, they used to make fun of my bad uniform because I was poor, too." Ivan raised a doubtful eyebrow at Alfred's perfectly fitting and pressed uniform. "Mattie's father is rich, and he adopted me."

That answer only created more questions in Ivan's mind. "Vhy?" he asked. Alfred's mouth disappeared into a thin line, and he turned his head away sending a very clear message of **I don't want to talk about it.**

Ivan placed a solid hand on Alfred's shoulder and gave him a look that said _I've been there_ and _I understand_. Normally when people give such sentiments, they just anger Alfred because he knows they've never experienced that kind of loss and don't actually understand. This time was different; this time there was a particular sadness that floated to the surface of Ivan's eyes that Alfred knew was etched in his own. He squeezed the hand that rested on his shoulder and drove off.

* * *

Much to the disdain of the nuns and priests at Blessed Cross, hockey was one of the kids' favorite sports due to the number of fights that broke out during the course of a game, and how physical they players were with each other. On Fridays, the hockey team always scrimmaged against another school, so today, many guys were crowded onto the stands to cheer for their favorite players or jeer at the other team and Ivan.

"Ghetto reject!... Dumbass Russian, can't speak English!... Friendless Looser!" They yelled, and Ivan just continued to skate his warm up laps dejectedly. He couldn't exactly tell them they were wrong; all of it was true, more or less. He was from the slums; he didn't speak much; and his only friend was Matthew.

Then one moronic guy, Richard, started yelling, making Ivan's blood boil, and the want to go over to the bleachers and punch him rise up. "Ghetto guys are fuckers! Those drug addicts deserve to get themselves killed and go to hell for their sins! Probably sells his own sisters-"

Ivan started when the obnoxious yelling was suddenly cut off; he saw Alfred strangling him from behind, kicking and kneeing every part of Richard's body he could touch. "Don't you dare fucking say that you bastard! You don't know what it's like to be there!" Alfred screamed, as Richard slowly turned from red to blue, fingers uselessly scratching at Alfred's strong, vice-like grip.

Ivan flew off the ice at a breakneck pace and dashed to where Alfred and the guy were in the stands. He gently pried Alfred's fingers off of the guy's neck. "Thank you Alfred, but my turn now," Ivan said before cracking the guy across the face with a meaty fist. Ivan picked Richard up by his throat and threw him into the glass surrounding the arena. He started punching him the gut and the face again and again. Blood started gushing out of Richard mouth and nose as he screamed for someone to pull the "god damn ghetto-rat" off of him. Alfred got down on his hands and knees beside Ivan, attempting to pull him off Richard in vain.

It took half the hockey team and both the hockey coaches to finally drag Ivan off of the bleeding, bruised, blue-faced boy. The coaches brought Ivan, Alfred, and Richard back to the school to see Father O'Connell for punishment.

"I am completely horrified by this behavior! This is not how students of Blessed Cross are supposed to act. Attacking each other is unacceptable!" Father O'Connell yelled.

"What about Richard, that asshole, who kept insulting Ivan!" Alfred yelled back, jumping out of his seat. "How is it acceptable for him to be so offensive?" He looked to Ivan, expecting him to jump in and defend himself too, but Ivan just sat there, staring at his hands in his lap.

"The thickheaded commie had it coming! See, the ghetto rat's not even smart enough to talk." Richard added snidely, making Alfred red in the face and look like he was about to strangle him again.

"Everyone stop talking! You still cannot just start a fight with someone. If you had a problem, you should have gone to a teacher. Either way, all of you are in detention together, every day for the next month and you three will have community service together on the weekends as well. No arguing! You are all dismissed." Father said with great vexation.

"Why didn't you defend yourself nor stop punching Richard?" Alfred hissed to Ivan as they walked out of the dean's office.

"I am used to violence, vords do not come… naturally to me, even in Russian," Ivan admitted. "But vhy you defended me? You started strangling him in bleachers before I got off ice, and you came to my defense in dean's office before I could speak, if I wanted to."

"He said that people who lived in the ghetto should go to hell; that's where I used to live. It's a personal insult to me as well as you," Alfred spat. "Thank you, comrade, but you've allied yourself with wrong person," Ivan said with a sad smile, "I am going to bring you down."

"If you befriend Mattie, then you're a good guy, so you're worth it. Besides, you need a hero."

* * *

Two weeks later, Sister Christine came in with a smile that everyone associated with something horribly boring being about to happen and a huge stack of bibles. "Good morning class, there will be a change in our class schedule for the next several weeks," Sister Christine announced, "On Fridays, instead of being normal English class, this will be religion class. Father O'Connell will come in to explain the glorious Word of Our Lord to all of you. In fact, he will be here in a few minutes to start your first class. Richard, please collect these bibles and hand one out to each person."

Ivan and Alfred groaned in unison at the prospect of more of Father O'Connell's preaching; both already received plenty of sermons along the lines of "thou shall not kill" in detention.

Richard politely handed each classmate a bible with a smile, until he got to Ivan's table. Upon seeing the larger Russian, an angry, disgusted, and slightly fearful scowl appeared on his face. From across the room, he flung two bibles at their table, one hitting Ivan in the chest and the other hitting Alfred in the back of the head.

"Ow, fuck," Alfred eloquently hissed under his breath as he picked the bible up off the floor.

"One for Matt too, da?" Ivan asked in a scarily sweet voice.

"Sure, here's a bible for your imaginary friend. Maybe if he prays enough, God will see him," Richard sneered, chucking another bible across the room.

"Hello class," Father O'Connell said, coming in the room moments later with a flourish, "My original lesson plan was going to be on the Lord's wish for his Children to respect each other, but something even more pressing has come up. Our previously great state has recently made something evil and hellish legal: gay marriage." His statement elicited a horrified gasp from the class as though he had said it is now legal to marry one's dog.

"I know how revolted all of you are," he continued, "What has the world come to where something as disgusting as homosexuality is practically encouraged? What has corrupted the mind of the masses so much that they think something so wrong and terrible is okay? In times where the law says something we know in our hearts to be wrong, it is best for us to look to the Holy Bible, the Lord's Word, for guidance. Everyone open to page 226."

Ivan stiffened considerably at the mention of the so-called horrors of being gay and the Lord's distaste for it. He was horribly aware of how bad the idea was to be openly gay at Blessed Cross, but Ivan didn't expect everyone to be so outright appalled by it. As Father O'Connell explained exactly what was wrong about being homosexual, he could feel his face growing red with anger and the vein in his temple that only pounded when he was enraged beyond all measure pulsing at a rapid pace.

Out of everyone in the class, only Matthew and Alfred noticed the normally calm and collected Russian's face taking on an ugly expression twisted with rage.

Alfred could clearly see the fury rolling off Ivan in hot waves. _I wonder why, out of everyone, he's so livid,_ he thought idly,_ He looks sexy like that. Wait, what the fuck!?_ Alfred added, shocked and slightly horrified, _did I just describe another __**guy**__ as sexy? You like chicks, Alfred, not dicks, chicks. Just think, nice full round breasts. Think about that girl across the room._

Alfred disappeared off into his own world of perfect women. Slowly, the mental image turned from that of the short, big bosomed brunette in his English class to a white-gold haired girl who's chest slowly became flat, hair grew short and strong muscles and broad shoulders developed, as the image grew taller. His eyes flashed open when he realized that the perfect 'woman' for him looked exactly like Ivan.

Then the cute girl who originally starred in the mental daydream turned around in her seat and smiled a too innocent to be innocent grin at Alfred. His hormones quickly erased all personal revelations.


	3. Of Pain and Kissing

Hi people~!

I'm sorry for offending anyone with my bad portrayal of Catholic schools. Its supposed to be over-the-top to some degree to add more angst, but I'll try to make it more realistic in the future. I also gave a year for the story, but it's pretty much irrelevant and only there so people will think the story is slightly more realistic.

Also, someone please correct my Russian! I'm using Google Translate and we all know how incorrect and iffy it can be, and I really can't sight check it like I sort of can with French because I _seriously _don't know the language.

Warnings: cursing (up to and including the f word), lots of talk of violence and drugs, some kissing but not much, and a character dies, but its an unimportant OC that's only used to get the story line moving. In addition, there is a reaction to a rape, but not the rape itself.

Disclaimers: I don't own the Hetalia characters, but I do own the random OC's and the plot.

* * *

Tuesday evening was a strange for Ivan; not because anything weird was happening but because it was so normal. It was a rare night off; he had sent four runners out on some easy selling jobs. Everyone should be relatively safe, so he didn't have to worry about anyone. He could finish toiling through his massive amounts of homework as though he was a normal eleventh grader.

A little before midnight, a slightly annoying ringing and buzzing sound filled the air, as Ivan's cell phone rang and vibrated on the kitchen counter. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he slowly rose to his feet and flipped open the phone. "привет? (Hello?)"

"Is there a Mr. Braginski?" a monotone, almost bored voice asked from the other side, as though they had done this numerous times.

"Speaking."

"Sorry to bother you so late, but a boy named Christopher Smith is currently in our ICU after being shot twice in the chest and once in the stomach. He keeps saying, 'I need to talk to Boss,' which is apparently you. He doesn't have much time left, so if you are going to see him, you should do it now."

_Christopher… How could little one have gotten hurt? I sent him out on a safe job, though not job is truly safe in this business_, Ivan thought, running a hand through his tangled hair. _If I thought there was even the smallest chance someone would pull a weapon, I would have gone myself. No good boss would ever send someone so small into a fight._

"Mr. Braginski?" the voice asked cooly.

"Da, I am sorry. I will be there soon."

* * *

At midnight on Tuesday night, a loud ringing sound went through the huge Bonnefoy mansion. "Oh mon dieu (Oh my god)," Matthew's father, Francis groaned after rudely being awoken by the caller, "Qui appels à cet heure? (Who calls at this hour?)" He regretfully dragged himself out of his warm bed in an uncharacteristically bad mood.

"C'est de la part de qui? (Who is this?)" He snarled into the receiver.

"Sorry to bother you so late at night Mr. Bonnefoy, but this couldn't wait until morning. A friend of your son Alfred, Christopher Smith, is in the hospital. He was shot in the chest twice and in the stomach once, and he doesn't appear to have much time left; his parents said he and Alfred were good friends?"

"Oh," Francus breathed, and the glowering look on his face quickly fell away. "I'll bring him immediately." Covering the receiver with his hand, he yelled to boys' rooms, "Matthew! Alfred! Get up now, we're going to the hospital!"

Now awake and fumbling in the dark of his room, Alfred grabbed the first shirt and jeans his hands touched. He jumped a bit to pull the jeans over his slightly wider hips and rounder ass that he hated deeply, thinking they made him vaguely effeminate.

Digging around in his drawer, he picked up a dark chocolate bar and slipped it into the pocket of his bomber jacket.

Matthew popped his head into Alfred's room, "Are you okay?" As he met his eyes, the strangely blank and calm expression on his face worried Matthew.

"I'm fine, Mattie," Alfred said, bustling out of the room and flying down the stairs. "We need to leave. Now," he called over his shoulder as he jogged out to a car.

* * *

"Oh god, Chris, how could ya let dis happen to ya?" Alfred asked with wide eyes. He didn't even notice how he slipped back into the cant of his childhood. He took in scene of the bright, blank white room and the mechanical beeping of machines. A few tears escaped him at the sight of the dozens wires sticking out of his oldest friend.

"I hadda Al! You know my family don't got no money, and after my da died, I gotta support my ma and my sis all on my own. There was lots a money, and Boss tried real hard to keep me safe! He made sure I was kept outta fights cause I'm so small an' stuff. How was he supposed to know 'nother dealer would think we was tryin' to creep onta their turf?" Christopher laboriously explained in a rasping voice.

"I should teach dis 'Boss' a lesson," Alfred growled under his breath.

"He's a good guy, Al, really his is! And he's a master with weapons; ya'll get yaself killed."

"Fine, I won't do anythin' to him for ya sake," he sighed, plopping down in a hard plastic chair. "I brought a chocolate bar. I know how much ya like 'em, and that ya can't get 'em 'less ya stealin'."

With a quiet whooshing sound from the glass doors of Christopher's ICU room, Ivan walked into the room with heavy footsteps, a downcast expression on his face, and eyes fixed on the floor. "I am terribly sorry, little one; I never meant to send you to such dangerous place. I will keep your sister and mother safe after you… go, I promise."

"Ivan? Whatcha doin' 'ere?" Alfred asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Al, dis is Boss. Boss, dis is my oldest friend Al. Thanks Boss, it means a lot to me," Christopher introduced, popping a piece of the chocolate bar into his mouth as he did so. "Aw, thanks Al, ya know how much I like dark chocolate."

"You're da one to get Chris into da game?" Alfred jumped up, yelling at Ivan, turning red in the face, "How could ya do that! He's too small; no offense, Chris."

"Alfred, this none of your business. Again little one, I am sorry. I vill leave you alone nov," Ivan said, bowing his head and turning to leave the room.

"Boss, thanks for da help. Also, I need to tell ya –cough, cough- that da dealer who shot me said I was a warning. He said to stay offa his tuff –cough, cough- 'less you want something even worse happenin'," Christ told him, as he coughed up some blood. With a crisp nod and an apologetic look, Ivan left the room.

"Al, will ya stay with me until I'm gone?" Christopher pleaded with a pitiful look on his face. "Ya wanna talk?"

"Pray, I needa know someone down here's making sure I don't go to hell."

Alfred tightly grasped Christopher's hand in his own. He began a prayer that would last well into the early hours of the morning, even after Christopher was already gone, "Our Father in Heaven, please bring ya son Christopher, a good soul, into ya golden Kingdom…"

* * *

As Ivan walked into his English class the next day, he still could not get his mind off the poor boy he sent to his death. Christopher actually reminded Ivan of himself. Both were a fairly small 5'5" at fifteen, though Ivan was chubby and Christopher was rail-thin; they were forced into the drug game because of their poverty; and they had to do it to support their families. He didn't know little one very well, but it killed Ivan to know his death was his fault. He also couldn't help but think that two years ago before his growth spurt, what happened to Christopher could have easily happened to him.

"Hello comrades," Ivan said, sounding worn out and aged beyond his years.

"What's wrong Ivan?" Matthew asked, looking at Ivan with the concerned look that was often present on his face.

"Friend was killed last night. I cannot stop thinking of him."

"That's weird. Same with Alfred…" Matthew started but trailed off when he received a pointed look from Alfred.

"So Mattie, how's the girlfriend?" Alfred asked in an obvious attempt to change the topic of conversation; moreover, he spoke a breakneck pace that Ivan was not supposed to, and could not keep up with.

"Why are you ignoring Ivan?" Matthew hissed in a quick undertone. He immediately understood what his brother was attempting to; therefore, he disregarded Alfred's meaningless question all together.

"It's his fault Chris is dead," he quickly growled back.

"How?" Matthew asked in a confused tone, but Alfred just looked away and fell into a rare silence.

"Alfred? Vhat did I do vrong?"Ivan asked, tugging at Alfred's sleeve with a distraught expression. It was the same look small children have when they think they've greatly angered their parents. It was a pitiful look, and in Ivan's case, it was a look that screamed _please don't leave me_. It was as if he had been left once and would do anything to avoid it from happening again.

"You know exactly what you did."

With the ring of the bell, and a greeting from Sister Christine, the two misfits and one popular guy fell into a tense, heavy silence.

There was a vibration running through Ivan's leg from his pocket. With a barely noticeable worried glance, he flipped open the phone; hoping it wasn't another bad event. It was a text from Matthew, Ivan noted with surprise; he didn't even notice the little blond had broken his intense concentration on the teacher. **If Alfred doesnt forgive you by Friday, come over to my house to talk.** He knew he was going to have to take Matthew up on that offer.

* * *

Alfred didn't drive with Matthew and Ivan to the hockey that Friday; he just chucked the keys at Matthew and hopped onto the bus. "Hey Alfred," the bus driver smiled, "It's been a long time since I've driven you home, probably two years? You live in… the Lower City, right?"

"Not anymore G, I live in Skytop now," he said with a sad smile that surprised G. Normally escaping the Lower City was cause for celebration, even if they didn't reach as high as Skytop.

"You're definitely going to have to come over and talk to Alfred today," Matthew told Ivan, "I'll drive you over after practice."

"Thank you, Matt." Ivan looked entirely calm, but there was a glint of worry in his eyes and a discreet tugging on his relatively long hair that gave him away.

Ivan knew he had to keep a calm and clear head when he talked to Alfred, but he couldn't help feel outraged at the American. He was one of the few Ivan spoke too who was not family, working for him or wanting him dead. Alfred was one of the two real friends he had, and now this friend refused to speak to him! Subconsciously, Ivan started clenching and unclenching one of his big fists and placed the other on his right hip, as though reaching for a weapon.

Taking his eyes off Ivan and re-focusing on the road, Matthew couldn't help but think, _This is the first time Ivan's truly scaring me. I've seen him fight before, but this time is different. I don't know how, but Alfred makes this different._

"Al! Where are you?" Matthew called into the quiet house when he opened the front door.

"My room," a muffled voice called back. Matthew made a _follow with me_ motion to Ivan, and climbed up the stairs. As he walked by a shelf, Matthew snatched up a star-patterned blue key.

With a slight popping sound, Matthew pushed open Alfred's door, shoved Ivan inside, and slammed the door shut. Alfred openly glared at him, and when Ivan turned back towards the door, they both heard a loud clacking noise. The bolt lock had slid across the door's cavity and locked them inside the room together. "Sorry!" Matthew said somewhat muffled by the door, "I'll let you guys out when you fix your problems."

"Dammit Mattie! Let me the fuck out! I don't want to be stuck in here with Ivan!" he yelled, leaping off his bed.

"Alfred, ve are stuck in here; there is no point in yelling."

"I'd rather kill **you** than be stuck in here with you," Alfred snarled, speaking to Ivan for the first time in days. "Especially after I found out what you do. How can you sleep with yourself at night?"

"I don't. Vhat I do is hard work, so I rarely sleep anymore. And I need to do it, vho else vill take care of my sisters?" Ivan asked, his dark anger clouding his violet, **violent** eyes even more.

"Their pimps will probably take care of them," he sneered.

Ivan crossed the room in a few step to stand in front of Alfred. He seized a chunk of hair in his thick fist and pulled Alfred's head back to meet his eyes. "You said you lived in Lover City, so you know perfectly vell not everyone does something as… disgusting as that."

"I already know you deal; it's not crazy you do other sinful things," Alfred growled, trying to pull out of Ivan's group and regain control over his own head.

"Shut your mouth, I vould not sell my own sisters. Everything I do is to protect them and anyone vho vorks under me."

"Obviously you aren't too good, else Chris wouldn't be dead." That snide comment threw Ivan over the edge. Without even thinking, he pulled back a meaty fist and cracked Alfred across the face. Not missing a beat, Alfred raised his knee and buried it under his rib cage; Ivan could feel his ribs almost snap.

While Ivan was still in shock about his own and Alfred's actions, Alfred threw a punch that smashed into Ivan's mouth. Reeling, he took a step back. His back of his knees hit the end of bed; Ivan fell back and grabbed onto Alfred as an attempted to stay upright but only succeeded in pulling him on top of him.

Ivan lay stunned on Alfred's bed; white blonde hair splayed over the pale blue sheets, catching the pink and orange hues of the sunset. He held Alfred's forearm in a strong grip, keeping the golden blonde pinned to his chest with a dazed look in his eyes.

Alfred was not as bewildered as Ivan; he was still able to think semi-rational thoughts. He struggled against Ivan's tight hold, thinking about how awkward and suggestive their position was with one of Alfred's knees pressed into Ivan's crotch, and his own 'vital regions' against the Russian's thigh.

_Dammit, is he getting hard? This is kinda hot… the fuck!? I'm getting hard too!_ Alfred struggled more, but only managed to increase the friction between the two of them. Each thrash rubbed his ever hardening crotch against the other's thigh. He could feel himself growing hotter and more flushed, and he knew it wasn't just because the Russian was shockingly warm. "Shit Ivan, let go of me!"

Somewhat coming out of his haze, Ivan did the exact opposite; he yanked them closer together, if that was possible, and slammed his lips against Alfred's. With a yelp, he found his mouth being ruthlessly attack by the Russian. A moan vibrated through the room that Alfred _swore_ wasn't from him; he parted his lips slightly and let Ivan inside.

Alfred could taste the blood on Ivan's lips; even though the metallic tang was revolting, he still deepened the kiss, needing to have the Russian closer. He felt like he wasn't in control of himself; he felt like his mind was gone and his body was just operating on what it need instead of what was right. He started pushing back on the tongue invading his mouth, gaining dominance. Just as Alfred's tongue slipped past his teeth, Ivan let out a light moan that slapped Alfred back to the present.

Alfred pulled away from the kiss with a smacking sound of parting lips and a thin trail of saliva connecting the two. Noticing the alarmed look in his eyes, Ivan snapped out of his stupor and fully realized what he had done. "Oh, Alfred, I sorry. I should not done that," he blurted out in panicked, broken English.

Alfred wiped his mouth and rapidly untangled himself from the big Russian, "Get out," he said slowly, pointing to the door.

"I sorry! I sorry!" He was hysterical at this point. Ivan had completely lost control three times in the last few minutes: punching Alfred, kissing him and now he couldn't even keep his voice under control. He prided himself on his willpower and composure.

"Ivan, please leave," Alfred said, more gently this time. "Just go."

Matthew had heard the whole thing, and unlocked the door to let Ivan out. "Do you need a ride home?"

"нет (no), I valk home," he said, simmering down and becoming as cold as the tundra.

"But Ivan, that's really far."

"I fine Matt; I need think," Ivan said with certainty, sweeping out of the room, throwing an apologetic backwards glance to Alfred.

"Al… what the hack happened?" Matthew asked, sitting beside his more-or-less-a-brother on his bed.

"We got into a fight, as you probably expected. I started yelling at him, and to be fair, I did accuse him of stuff I knew he wouldn't do. But there's this whole other fucking life he hasn't told us about! I thought all of us were close. And I went overboard: I said something I knew would completely offend him, and we got into a fight. Somehow I ended up on top of him on my bed.

"He kissed me, Mattie, fucking kissed me! And I didn't fucking pull away; I kissed back. Mattie… I think I… liked it," Alfred explained, looking shamefaced.

"And? What's wrong with that? You've had one girlfriend, it's time to move on, eh?"

"Not with a guy!"

"Why not? He seems to like you; you seem to like-"

"No!" Alfred yelled, "I can't- I don't. It's wrong! Everything says it's wrong. Remember what Father O'Connell said last year? He said, 'the gay rights movement has recently become national. It's 1994 and movies that are shown to everyone are coming out that support the gays and their sinful decision. They and all who support them will burn outside the grace of God.' You know I'm religious; I don't want to be abandoned by Him too."

* * *

It was late as Ivan walked home; too late for someone with his reputation to be without his weapons. Already he had seen two of his biggest competitors eyeing him with deadly looks on their faces. He made a mental note to bring his metal pipe with him everywhere from now on.

As Ivan walked into the apartment building, some big guy who was still smaller than he came barreling down the stairs, knocking Ivan to the sidewalk in the process. "Boss warned ya somethin worse would happen if ya kept selling on our turf!" Paling with fear, Ivan flew up the three flights of stairs, taking two at a time.

Walking into the apartment confirmed his worst fears. There was broken glass everywhere, one of the widows was punched out, the ratty couch was flipped onto its back, and there were blood splatters all over the walls and floor. The most notable were the three still forms lying in the middle of his apartment.

There was a man lying in the hallway towards the little bedrooms that Ivan did not recognize, presumably someone who had broken in. The slash marks all over his face, arms and torso from Natalia's knife were bleeding heavily. Natalia was lying near to him with a brilliant bruise blossoming across her temple, as though a strong blow to the head had knocked her out.

In the middle of the kitchen floor laid Katyusha. She was the only conscious one of the three, but she was in a catatonic state. She didn't even blink when Ivan knelt down to her broken body, assessing the damage with a knowledgeable eye and trembling with anger.

There was a trail of blood leaking from her temple and down the side of her face. The buttons of her white low-cut work shirt that Ivan hated were popped off, exposing the huge breasts that brought male customers into the bar in droves. Her black uniform short skirt was hiked up around her hips, her underwear wrapped around an ankle. A fiery hot anger consumed Ivan; she had been raped.

It was Ivan's fault, all of it. If he had only been here earlier, he would have been able to protect his sisters. If he hadn't tried to increase his selling range, they would have been safe. There was no doubt in Ivan's mind that the man who ran out the apartment was for Katyusha, and the guy lying possibly dead on the floor was for Natalia. Thank god Natalia was good with a knife. Ivan gently pulled Katyusha's underwear back up and smoothed out the skirt, somewhat regaining her dignity. He kneeled down beside her head, running thick fingers though her short, soft hair.

"Hello, what is the nature of your emergency?"

"I am calling to report a home invasion. There are three badly injured people in my apartment: one knocked out, one raped and another dying or possibly dead," Ivan said smoothly, containing his inconceivable fury well. "We are in apartment 4A on 1374 Shadov Street, Lover City."

Snapping his phone shut, Ivan lost his composure and started to sob. He took in great, gasping breaths, his tears running off his nose and splashing onto his sister's frozen face. Ivan couldn't think of a worse day in his entire life. There were many god-awful days in his life, but this was by far the most hellish.

"Я сожалею, Мне очень жаль. (I'm sorry, I am so sorry.)" His whispered with a tear-thickened voice, but in the cold room of frozen, ravaged bodies, there was no voice of forgiveness.


	4. Of Returns and Awkward Bros

Yay, early chapter! Since I probably won't have internet access (le gasp!) starting tomorrow, here is the update!

To make up for all the **serious** angst in the last chapter, this is a fluffy-er but still romantically angsty chapter.

Warnings: lots cursing, small fight, and a number of awkward sexual situations. They're not truly inappropriate events, just Ivan and Alfred getting all hot through some accidental and innocent things and then freaking out a bit.

Disclaimers: I own the plot and the random OC's, but not the Hetalia characters.

* * *

For the next week, nobody at Blessed Cross saw Ivan nor heard anything from him. It was as if he had fallen off the face of the Earth. On Monday, Alfred was glad Ivan wasn't at school; he wasn't ready to face Ivan after the kissing incident the Friday before.

But when Ivan didn't show up or call Matthew or he by Wednesday, Alfred started to worry. Rumors began to fly about Ivan getting killed in a gang fight, or a drug deal gone badly, or an overdose, or in a theft gone wrong. Every time the American heard one of the rumors, he twitched with fear because he knew some of those could have happened.

Finally on Friday, Ivan walked into English for the first time in a week. Alfred creased his nervous tapping and let out a relieved breath. _Thank god, I was starting to think he was dead_, the American thought. But as Ivan approached the table, he could see an exhausted, pained look dragging his features down, and Alfred thought, _maybe Ivan would be happier dead._

With a loud thump, Ivan collapsed in his seat, his head falling into his hands. Alfred gently laid a hand on Ivan's back, making him tense up. Slowly, Alfred rubbed his hand in circles against the hard muscles, each stroke slowing easing the stress out of the Russian little by little. Ivan rocked back and forth to accompany the circling motion, for the first time in a week, there was a semblance of calm.

Joining his brother in silently comforting the Russian, Matthew took a scarred, calloused hand in his own and expertly kneaded it, eliciting a content noise from their big friend.

"I'm super sorry about freaking out on you last week," Alfred murmured into Ivan's ear. With each circle, his hand dipped lower and lower until it stopped, resting on the small of his back. Alfred's hand slid down farther until he could feel the band of Ivan's boxers through his polo shirt; he seemed to all of a sudden realize how his gesture went from friendly to intimate and jerked his hand away. Ivan didn't notice, but Matthew did and narrowed his eyes slightly at Alfred.

"It is okay; there is no need to vorry."

"So where have you been, big guy?"

"Hospital. My competitors broke into my apartment on Friday, and they hurt Katyusha and Natalia very badly. Natalia didn't vake up for day and half, and Katyusha hasn't been truly lucid in days."

"Oh Ivan, I'm so sorry," Matthew said, eyes widening.

"Thank you Matt, but I should have expected it. Now, I have people watching over them vhenever they go somevhere dangerous, such as our apartment, vithout me."

The bell loudly rang, signaling the start of class, and Father O'Connell called for everyone's attention.

"I want to explain something," Alfred said quietly, "Meet me behind the bleachers at the start of lunch."

"Hello children," the Father started, "I want to talk to you about another 'hot topic' today: abortion. Abortion breaks one simple rule in the Bible: "thou shall not kill.' As we know, every life is sacred, and these unborn children must be protected from shameful women who wish to end a life because they were careless…"

* * *

Ivan rested his back against the bleachers, leaned his head back against its supports and closed his eyes. Listening to his surroundings, he could discern yelling voices as guys played football on the field below him and ditzy girls giggling about this or that cute basketball player; it is irrelevant, but Ivan agreed with them. Though quieter, he could hear the laughter of small children. The innocent sounds exploding from their mouths produced on his face a smile tinged with sorrow. Innocence is something he barely remembers; his cruelly snatched away at a young age.

A few minutes later, Ivan could hear footsteps approaching and then stopping in front of him. He could hear someone sit down next to him. Amethyst orbs opened and settled on skittish looking Alfred; that was something he was not used to seeing.

Ivan and Alfred continued to sit in silence, and he couldn't help but watch the American out of the corner of his eye. The light breezes thay shook and rustled through the trees fluffed up his hair, each undulation catching the light. His hair was spun gold.

"I was pissed that you didn't even remotely tell anything about this other life to Mattie and I. I still don't think you're telling us everything, but I can understand," Alfred explained finally, "I'm not angry anymore, I'm just scared for you."

Ivan's head jerked around to face the America with a loud crack. He sucked in a quick, pained breath._ Too quickly_, he thought.

"Don't give me that surprised look," Alfred said with an eye roll, "I can be scared, especially for someone else. I'm scared because I've lost someone to… the game before.

"Vho?"

"… My…. My pa. He was a great dealer, turned the straightest people to glazed-eyed, brain-dead crack whores. He eventually turned straight, but there were so many people who still wanted him dead. He lived the rest of his life looking over his shoulder and trusting no one.

"I can't connect my sweet dad who knit and couldn't cook to save his life with the violent, druggie sinner everyone else saw. It's the same way I can't connect the you I know; the one who looks at sunflowers like they're the greatest things in the world and jumps around like he's doing ballet when he thinks nobody is watching with the boss dealer. I just can't. And I don't want what happened to my dad to happen to you."

Throughout this whole explanation, Alfred kept a steady eye contact with Ivan, worry shining through honest blue eyes. Now he looked down embarrassed by what he was going to say next.

"I… well… I care too much about you for you to… disappear." Ivan gave a deceptively cheerful hum and scooted close to the golden blonde. The last statement delighted him; however, everything else before it only served to remind his light self about the consequences of the actions his night self committed. Ivan didn't want to think about what he feared happening this early in the day; those sort of morbid thoughts were supposed to only plague him at night.

Ivan gently ran his thick fingers though the other's silky locks, and Alfred didn't push away this time but leaned into his touch. Supported by the Russian, the American couldn't imagine how someone so strong could ever die. But where his hands touched the back of Alfred's neck, Ivan felt as cold as death.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, Ivan and Alfred, along with Matthew, had become inseparable. Matthew figured something happened behind the bleachers, but when he asked Alfred, he just said, "I told him the truth." Matthew knew he hadn't yet come to terms with their mutual attraction, even though they had already made out, but he figured all of them being as thick as thieves to be a good step in the right direction.

To outsiders, they seemed to be nothing strange about their 'bro' relationship. Sharing everything, teasing each other non-stop, discussing porn and sex, and in Alfred and Ivan's case, getting into fights for fun.

There was one aspect of their relationship that was not as normal. Every now and then, there was a strange intensity and awkwardness between Alfred and Ivan that stood out to Matthew.

On many days after school, Alfred would drag Matthew and Ivan to the ice cream store nearby the school. Ivan would sometimes complain, but one sad puppy look from Alfred, and he would always go willingly.

"Hey Ivan," Alfred said, yanking on his taller friend's scarf. He was the only one allowed to touch the practically holy scarf without getting punched in the face; Matthew never even tried. "What'cha going to get?

"I once had this very good vodka ice cream, but somehov I suspect they von't be selling it," Ivan said with a smile.

"Whatever big guy. I'm getting chocolate chunk. How 'bout you, Mattie?"

"Small maple coffee in a cup please," Matthew quietly told the ice cream seller.

"Psshh, smalls are for weaklings. Large chocolate chunk in a waffle cone!"

Bumbling out of the door, sticking change into empty pocket while not dropping their ice cream, Ivan, Alfred, and Matthew sat together on the nice wooden bench outside the front of the store. They were enjoying the last hot tendrils of summer before winter's cold grip took the city by storm. Ivan was used to the cold, but he still hated it, hugely preferring hot weather. He leaned his head back, the golden sun melting his snowy cheeks.

"Mmm…" Alfred hummed, as the thick taste of chocolate coated his tongue and insides of his cheeks. Cracking open one eye, Ivan watched his friend happily enjoy his ice cream like a little kid.

Slowly poking his tongue out, Alfred swirled his tongue around the tip of the ice cream, tantalizingly drawing his tongue down its length. He let a happy, buzzing sigh causing Ivan's cheeks to flush hotly. The red spread across his white skin, from his cheeks, to his nose, all over his face. The blush probably extended farther, except his long, pale scarf covered all of his neck and collar.

"Alfred? Can you please stop?" Ivan asked, shifting uncomfortable to try and hide his 'problem.'

"What's wrong, big guy?" He asked with a confused look on his face. His inability to read the atmosphere was working in high gear.

Alfred glanced down and saw a growing bulge in Ivan's pants. The atmosphere quickly became clear, and he joined him in flushing hotly. Now that the suggestive image was in his head, it wouldn't go away. From there, the images of the two of them flashing through his mind only became more and more lewd and risqué.

Hopping up, Matthew pulled the offending ice cream out of Alfred's hand and threw it away. Alfred didn't even object; it was obvious he was horribly embarrassed. They didn't make eyes contact for the rest of the short-lived afternoon.

Matthew remembered another of many times that something compromising happened.

Alfred and Ivan were too strong for their own good. Both had to be carful when yanking open doors that they wouldn't rip them off their hinges. When they jokingly punched Matthew on the arm, he would have black, purple, and green bruises for days, though he never showed them.

They were the only people who could take the other's immense strength, and part of their friendship seemed to be getting into fights to release that excess power. Alfred got some of the release from beating on people in football, as Ivan did in hockey, but it never appeared to be enough.

There was something like an unspoken agreement between them: Ivan never went for Alfred's head because he often suffered from concussions, and Alfred never touched the Russian's neck or scarf. Matthew thought his neck hurt him, but Ivan adamantly refused to speak about it.

**Crack!** Alfred smashed Ivan across the face, blood trickling from his lips. **Thud!** **Crash!** Ivan slugged him in the stomach, and threw him against the wall. Alfred slid to the floor and **Bang****!** He knocked Ivan down with a wayward kick to the back of the knees. With a low chuckle, Ivan pounced on Alfred, pinning him to the floor. Arching his back and thrusting his hips up to knock Ivan off balance, Alfred flipped him over and ended up pining the large Russian. With another chuckle that was joined by the other's loud laugh, the two fell into a fit of giggles with Alfred on top of Ivan. He let him win for once.

Laughter subsiding to a content silence, Alfred's head dropped onto Ivan's shoulder, face against the crook of his neck, and Ivan wrapped a big arm around his waist. They didn't seem to notice the position they were in. Alfred straddled the Russian's hips, and his hands had slipped from their grasp on Ivan's wrists to tuck against his chest. The America's soft hair tickled the other's cheeks but in a good way, a too good way, and Ivan kept him tight to his chest with a grip around the golden blonde's torso.

Shifting slightly, Alfred inadvertently pressed their lengths fully against each other, suddenly making Ivan flush brightly. _Why doesn't he notice these things until after I announce them?_ The Russian thought, mortified he was going to have to bring up the occurrence of one of these awkward moments to the American, again, before it became even worse.

"Alfred, get off me, da?" he said, trying to shift away but failing miserably when the American only latched himself on tightly.

"Whhhyyy?" he moaned, and then happily chirped, "It's fun to be on top!" Noticing how Ivan darkened considerably at the last statement, Alfred mulled over what he said over for half a second suddenly blanching.

"Err! Umm! Yeah, that isn't what I meant!" he blurted out.

After a few more awkward moments between the heavily flushing boys, Matthew got up off the couch from where he had observed this entire exchange, "Anyone want to go to Trade Wind Pub for dinner?"

Scrambling up quickly, Alfred yelled out an "I do!" Relived he could escape another awkward situation by pretending he was completely distracted by food, even though he wasn't.

While the front of his mind was focused on food, the back of his brain was whirling with how much he wanted the Russian, but how it couldn't happen. Especially because the other probably didn't even want him back. How was Alfred to know Ivan was drawing a sad, similar conclusion?


	5. Of Sex and Scars

If you've read this story before, then you might have noticed that the rating went from T to M primarily for this chapter. It's not a lemon or anything, I don't think I could write one if I wanted to, but it's probably more explicit than a rated T story should be, I suppose. Anyways, on to the story -

Warnings: lots of cursing (up to and including the f word); sexual situations; violence, and character death (it's someone who was already hinted at being dead)

Disclaimers: don't own any characters of this chapter, but I do own the plot!

* * *

It was only thirty minutes some 'terrifying' horror film Alfred insisted on watching, and he was already shaking. Ivan was sitting on the opposite side of the couch, and though they were barely touching, he could feel the other's tremors.

Some poor girl in the movie was stupidly walking down into the basement in the middle of the night, and obviously the power was out, so all she had lighting her path was a flashlight. Of course as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the flashlight died, and the serial killer jumped out and killed her. It was so cliché; Ivan couldn't help but roll his eyes and giggle a little bit at the stupidity. But as he did so, Alfred let out a loud yelp and started up a pathetic sounding whimper.

But the brutal scene of the killer dismembering the girl's body even made Ivan wince a little. He was used to violence, but not this amount of blood and gore. While his was a quiet reaction, Alfred let out a blood-curdling scream and jumped into Ivan's lap. The Russian automatically wrapped his arms tightly around the clingy blond, but he still gave two sharp, nervous tugs on his hair. Alfred screamed and buried his face into Ivan's; he tightened his grip on Ivan at each sickening thud of the rusty axe on the poor girl's body,

"Shh, солнечность (sunshine), it's all okay," Ivan murmured, lips pressed against the crown of Alfred's head. One hand was pressed against the American's lower back, keeping him tight to the other's strong body, the other hand gently grasping the back of his neck, keeping him in place and secure.

When Alfred let out a particularly pitiful whine, Ivan meant to press a kiss into his forehead, but Alfred jerked his head up in the same moment. Their lips met in a gentle, almost childishly hesitant kiss.

Both their eyes widened, but neither pulled away, waiting for the other to do something. Slowly, slowly, Ivan shifted the position of Alfred's head, angling it for their lips to meet more fully. Then he waited, barely moving, for Alfred to approve or disapprove of this development.

The moment Ivan pressed his lips against Alfred's, the whole world faded away. That type of moment should be entirely romantic the only focus on the other person. The world should fade away leaving a heaven behind, instead it was hell.

Alfred barely felt the warm, slightly chapped lips moving slowly against his. All he could hear were the yelling voice telling him what he was doing, what he was feeling was wrong and the whispering voice egging him on, telling him that if this moment felt so good, it couldn't be wrong.

Alfred knew, as sure as science that this was the proverbial angle and devil sitting on his shoulder. The only problem is he couldn't tell which one was which. The devil could be the once voicing his own fear or the one tempting him.

Alfred didn't know what to do. After loosing his religion over two years ago, after the Event occurred, he had finally gotten it back. He didn't want to loose it again. _What would Pa think about this? _he thought, pulling Alfred from reality to nearly two years ago, the darkest time of his life. It was his living hell: **The Event**.

_My dad kept looking over his shoulder. Every time he glanced backwards, he increased our pace, pushing me in front of him._

_"Alfred, you see that doorway right there?" He said, his English accent thickening considerably. Normally it was the light accent of historical lords, an accent he cultivated over the years, but when he worried, he slipped into his true cockney accent. Pa pointed to a vestibule about three doors in front of us. "I want you to go there, move all the way against the door, and don't come out until I tell you to."_

_"Pa? What's happening?" I asked, eyes wide with fear._

_"No time for questions, just do what I said." I went over there, but I didn't completely listen. I popped by head around the corner, so I could watch what was happening._

_He watched me run into he doorway before turning around to face the people following us. "What do you want?" he snarled. Pa's voice scared me a bit. I could see the dangerous dealer I only heard stories about in his stance, and I could image the scowl on his face._

_"Ya took our territory away… now it's payback." The three hooded men said, slowly advancing, pulling handguns out of the waistband on their jeans._

_"That was over fifteen years ago, you're still holding a grudge?" I could hear his voice falter slightly at the sight of their pieces._

_"Why don't'cha tell us?" the leader asked, cocking the gun and firing a shot into Pa's chest. He fell in slow motion as though out of a movie, falling spread eagle with his legs bent awkwardly under his body. Blood was running in red rivers from the hole in his chest. I knew guns were the most obviously dangerous weapons in our neighborhood, but it was still horrifying that a wound so small was so dangerous._

_I knew I shouldn't have, but I had to; I dashed out from the vestibule and ran to Pa screaming prayers. I fell to my knees at his broken, but still breathing body._

_"No, Pa, no, NO! Pa please don't die!" I cried, putting his head into my land, my tears falling upon his face._

_"So dis is ya son," the leader stated, nudging his face up with muzzle of his gun. It wasn't a question. "He must mean a lot to ya…" And he shot me in the stomach._

_It was surreal feeling. I thought it would hurt, but it actually didn't. I could feel a wetness coming from the hole, but nothing more. No burning feeling, no ripping feeling, nothing._

_"We'll be gone… I'll get someone to call the cops and have 'em pick up ya bodies later," the leader said with a smirk. Then they all turned on their heels and swaggered away._

_"Al, come here lad…" Pa whispered, voice already sounding weak. Moving gingerly, I curled up against him in the middle of the sidewalk. I was nearly fifteen, but I turned into a little kid in that moment._

_His whispered in an airy, almost silent voice, "I love you, lad." It was the only time he ever said that; he was never one for obvious displays of affection._

_With my head on his chest, I heard him take this great, deep breath and saw his eyelids flutter shut over his emerald eyes. He was gone; I didn't even have the energy to cry._

_Sometime after that, in a puddle of both our blood, I fell asleep. More likely I passed out, for who could fall asleep on the cold, hard streets of the slums as the life slowly bled out of them?_

_The next time I opened my eyes, it felt as though there were weights keeping them down. I only opened them for a second, and all I could see was the harsh white ceiling of a hospital room. For my life, I couldn't remember why I was there._

_With a stiff neck, I turned my head to the side to meet the eyes of a worried look man and his son, who looked around my age. He had long blonde hair and dark blue eyes, while his son had similar blond wavy hair with a random curl and blue-violet eyes._

_"Alfred?" the man asked, a French accent evident in his voice, "Do you recognize Matthew and I?"_

_It took a moment, but I finally placed their faces. "Yeah, course I do. You're Pa's best friend. Hey Mattie, what's up?"_

_A pained expression crossed Francis's face, "Oui, we were… friends," he said quietly._

_"Where is Pa, by the way?"_

_Mirrored shocked expressions appeared on their face's. "You don't remember what happened, eh?"_

_"Your father died, and now I am your guardian._

_Almost like a slap in the face, I remembered all the events of that night. I started sobbing again, taking deep gasping breaths. I felt like I was drowning; everything was turning back-and-white._

_"Shh, Alfred, it's all going to be fine," Matthew comforted with a gentle hand on my shoulder._

How can it ever be fine again?_ I thought, but I didn't say anything. And I wouldn't say anything for months._

_Four months later, I was sitting in my new room in the vast Bonnefoy mansion; it was as large as my old apartment. The day my dad died, I lost everything: my Pa, my religion, and the only life I'd known. I had always wanted to be rid of the ghetto life, but it was supposed to happen with my father; we were going to do it together. Now I'm living this great life without him; actually, it's because he's gone that I get to live like this._

_I hadn't gone to church in months. Some people turn into born-again Christians when they loose someone, but I lost God when my Pa died. I was furious at Him; how could he take my Pa away from me? I needed him._

_Matthew poked his head around the door, "Hey Al, you ready to go to school?" I gave a small nod and stood up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. "When do you think you'll start talking again?" I shrugged my shoulders; it wasn't an answer, but it was more than my new family usually got from me._

_No matter where I was, I had perfect self-control. I showed no negative emotions; I even smiled, but it was only a ghost of the Hollywood smile I used to wear. I let nobody into my little hell. Part of the problem is that I couldn't cry. Trust me, I tried; I felt like if I just could get out all the tears, I would feel better, but no tears ever fell from my eyes since the day he died. But one day, I lost all my composure and burst into tears in the middle of history class._

_We were watching some American Revolutionary War movie. In the movie, this one man who's a loyalist to the crown of England sacrifices himself to save his younger American rebel brother. It was really dramatic. There was a splatter of mud as the man hit the ground, and his little brother came running up to him and fell to his knees beside him. The little brother was sobbing and held his big brother for hours._

_I suppose it reminded me of the night my Pa died. The moment the shot went off, I stiffened up and tears started trickling from my eyes. Matthew leaned over and asked, "Al? Are you okay?" I still don't know how he could keep asking me that; it was obvious I wasn't okay._

_"No, Mattie," I said, voice hardly above a whisper and cracking painfully after months of disuse. "I'm not okay." It was the first time I had spoken in four months._

_"If it's not now, we'll make it okay, eh?" Matthew said, allowing me to cry into his shoulder. God, I don't know what I'd do without him._

_I still hurt, even two years later, I was still in pain…_

Less than three seconds had gone by before Alfred was jarred out of his thoughts.

Ivan pulled away from the kiss. "Sorry," he said apologetically, "I should not have tried that." The stunned look on Alfred's face cleared up immediately, and he slammed his lips against those of the hopeful Russian. As they kissed, he shifted his position to straddle Ivan's lap and stand on his knees a bit to make the small difference in their heights moot.

It was as though something took over Alfred's body; he supposed it was a need to be close to someone. After his father died, he went through a phase where he went through a different girl every week. This was probably just a reoccurrence of that time period.

Recovering from his surprise, Ivan pulled Alfred against him so that they were closely pressed chest to chest. Sucking, biting, and moving against each other's lips, the second kiss was never meant to be chaste.

Hands wandering, tracing the contours of the other's body, their fingertips outlined noses, lips, eyes, ears, and jaw bones. Ivan's hands traveled lower over the slightly wide hips, stroking and squeezing the plump rear in appreciation making Alfred moan and grind his hips into Ivan's.

With a lewd smile anyone besides Alfred would have found disconcerting, Ivan practically ripped off the golden blond's gray Coca-Cola shirt. Starting at the hollow of Alfred's throat and moving towards his navel, he pressed kisses into the sun-kissed skin leaving numerous love-bite in his wake. Giving a hard kiss to each of the six abs, he slid his tongue teasingly into the valleys they made. They weren't rock hard but warm and slightly soft in a satisfying way.

Letting loose a loud moan, Alfred fisted Ivan's hair and dragged his head up for another rough kiss. Alfred's tongue dominated the kiss while Ivan worked on ridding the golden blond of his jeans. With his pant's buttons undone and the zipper down, Alfred slapped the hands away.

"Take off your shirt first," Alfred panted, cheeks a delicious pink. Conceding, Ivan pulled his ocean blue shirt with white swirling patterns off over his head. He took special care to not jostle the precious scarf around his neck.

Alfred bit and sucked on Ivan's collarbone, since his neck was still annoyingly covered. The Russian returned to the earlier task of removing the golden blond's jeans, Alfred moving as necessary to assist the task.

Ivan stopped for a moment to appreciate the warm, pleasing form he held in his arms. Switching from his previously rough touches, he gently stroked the strong arms and shoulders from being a quarterback, an athletic albeit slightly padded torso, and strong thighs currently wrapped around his waist, mapping out every part of the golden blond's body for the first time. Alfred slid Ivan's boxers off of his strong hips with one hand while tracing patterns on hard abs with the other.

But the damn Russian kept the fucking scarf on even when both were rid of the rest of their clothes.

Several minutes later, rolling over to push Alfred's back against the seat of the couch, Ivan leaned down into the golden blond and pressed a pair of lips into his ear. "Ready?"

With a nod from Alfred, Ivan's length pressed into his warmth; a heavy groan erupted from the Russian and a gasp from the American. "извините (sorry). You are okay, da?" Ivan asked; his lust-filled voice tinged with concern.

"Yeah, just move, asshole."

* * *

Just before they started, Matthew and Francis came home, arms full of groceries, to a shockingly quiet house. They expected Alfred's blaring hip-hop music to assault their ears the moment they walked in the door.

"I'm still surprised to see how strong you are Matthew," Francis commented as his son hiked the fit to burst grocery bags onto the counter. But he jumped in surprise and dropped a bag when a loud groan vibrated through the mansion.

"What the maple was that?" Matthew asked looking up to the ceiling, vaguely in the direction of Alfred's room.

Being the sexually experienced Frenchman that he is, Francis knew exactly what was happening upstairs, "Well, Matthew-"

"Ah fuck! Harder Ivan!" a muffled voice yelled out.

"Talk too much, stop talking so much."

"I'll talk as much as I-aaaahhh!" the voice started but ended as a pornographically loud moan accompanied by a series of loud thumping noises.

Matthew suddenly flushed darkly, knowing exactly what was going on. "Well actually having sex will diffuse their sexual tension…" he muttered under his breath. "Umm, what should we do exactly?" he then asked Francis.

"…Just avoid their room. Nous avons aller Trade Wind pour dîner à passer le temps (We'll go out to Trade Wind for diner to pass the time)."

"D'accord (Okay)," Matthew agreed, looking solemnly in the direction of Alfred's room as they hurried out. How was this going to change things?

* * *

A while later upstairs, Alfred lied curled against Ivan. "Asshole," he said slapping the other on the chest, "You made me moan like that cause you knew Mattie and his dad were downstairs."

Ivan laughed, carding his fingers through golden strands, "Perhaps…"

"…You need to get back to your sisters, don't you?" Alfred asked, burying his face into the Russian's scarf; he didn't like the answer he knew he would get.

"Da, I should leave," Ivan said gently, moving the golden blond off of him and reaching for his clothes when his wrist was suddenly grabbed in a steel grip.

"Wait, big guy. We're dirty; you're taking a bath with me first," Alfred announced dragging Ivan to his feet and towards the bathroom with one hand pressed against his lower back.

"Alfred, no, I cannot do that," he said, panicking slightly, dragging his feet on the ground.

"Why the hell not? We've seen each other naked," Alfred asked, turning to face him.

"нет (no)! I do not let people see under my scarf!"

The American took his face into his hands, running a thumb over a cheekbone. "Come on Ivan, you can trust me. Let's go." He tried to tug the Russian into the bathroom, but he wouldn't budge.

Alfred let out as slow sigh, "Join me when you're ready," he said, as he limped into the bathroom.

Playing with his scarf and twisting his fingers in his hair, Ivan was caught between joining his American and keeping his protective scarf on. Growing up under the macabre conditions that he did, Ivan had suffered extensive injuries; the worst of which adorned his neck. Deep, torturous slashes covered the skin from just under his chin to right above his collarbone. They were punishments and warnings from his mentor's competitors to his old mentor about invading the others' territories. Ivan was his mentor's favorite, and while being the boss's favorite is normally a good thing, in this game, it's a trait that can get one saved or killed. The scars were a sign of weakness that he did not show to people who would exploit it, and a source of pity for those who wouldn't.

_But I can trust Alfred_, he thought. With a shaky sigh, Ivan unwound his scarf and stepped into the steaming bathroom, tugging on his pale hair a few times.

Alfred lied in the big tub, eyes lightly shut, and Ivan joined him in the burning water, sighing slightly as he sunk in. Opening his eyes, the American crawled over to him and sat in his lap to get a good look at his neck.

Knowing what he wanted to do, Ivan hesitantly tilted his head up to expose the heavily marred neck. With prodding fingers, Alfred poked and stroked the crazy network of scars; nearly all the skin was scar tissue. Apparently he wasn't gentle enough because Ivan suddenly sucked in a pained breath of air and slapped the searching hands away. "Sorry, sorry…" Alfred murmured, resuming his probing with the lightest touch he could manage.

Alfred reached over and grabbed a washcloth and soaped it up when he was done. Moving so that he was behind Ivan, he started cleaning the snowy skin smothered with scars. When he poured water over the strong back to rinse it, the water followed similar patterns in and around the forever-damaged skin.

Alfred's fingers circled a perfect triad of circular scars on the nape of his neck, Ivan commented with a hollow voice, "Cigarette burns from my dad; I was five." Each burn received a kiss.

Fingers tracing three parallel slash marks that stretched from his naval to the center of his lower back, "Fight over a good piece of territory, I won; I was twelve." They received a kiss as well.

Two perfectly straight and even deep cuts from his upper to middle back to make a 'V' shape, "When I was accepted as a full member of my drug ring падший ангел (Fallen Angels). The Cyrillic tattoo between the cuts means Fallen Angel; it was my sixteenth birthday."

There were innumerable scars such as those all across Ivan's body, showing up horrifically well against the pale skin.

After Alfred was finished washing him off, Ivan returned the favor, enjoying the rare feeling of perfectly smooth flesh under the pads of his thick fingers. The Russian reached a curious raised bump on the right side of his stomach.

"What is this?" he asked, prodding at it.

"Bullet wound from the night my dad died," Alfred explained. With a bowed head and tears falling, he proceeded to tell the story of the night that changed his life.

Opening up to Ivan, seeing the affection and the concern spilling over his eyes, Alfred realized that this time the sex was different. It was the start of something real and precious, and he hated how badly that scared him.


	6. Of Anger and Affirmation

I think I'm about halfway through this story~!

FYI, reference to past FrUk (not really important to story, and it probably won't ever me mentioned again)

Warnings: lots of cursing (up to and including the f word); references to sex; violence

Disclaimers: don't own any characters of this chapter, but I do own the plot!

* * *

Alfred somewhat regretted he and Ivan's amorous activities the next day at basketball practice. They had been, well, fucking for the past month. In all honesty, Alfred's and Ivan's relationship hadn't changed all that much, except they jumped each other whenever they were alone. Much to Alfred's dismay, he was generally on the receiving end of their activities; really, the hero should be giving it, not getting it.

And god, Alfred almost died when he came downstairs that first night to walk Ivan to the door and found Matthew and Francis in the kitchen. Alfred could tell they heard a lot of it. Matthew was beet red, and Francis had a proud and lecherous look in his eyes. For the next week and a half, the violet-blue eyed boy had a nearly permanent blush and an expression that screamed _I know a huge secret_.

The only problem, besides having to keep their relationship under wraps, is that after their activities doing anything hurt: sitting, walking, standing, running, jumping. Alfred took a painkiller first thing every other morning since he didn't want to get any strange looks due to his heavy limp. But low and behold, he still had a horrible hobbling gait some days and was the butt of much teasing.

"Al!" a teammate shouted, slapping him on the back as he passed him in the locker room, "You're walking like my girl does when I give it to her hard!"

"Yeah dude," another added, "You were hobbling around the courts like a cripple."

"Almost like you took it up the ass last night," his co-captain teased, jabbing Alfred in the spine just above his butt. Alfred bit his lip to keep from yelping aloud.

"Haha, yeah, I just pulled something. I'll be as awesome as ever soon," Alfred laughed, hiding his discomfort.

"Cool bro cause we'll need you against Rockwell Friends." Switching to yell at another teammate as he walked away, he called, "I told you it was stupid to bet Al was gay and bottoming; you owe me $20, dumb ass!"

_Shit that was _close, Alfred thought, as he laughed awkwardly under his breath.

* * *

Alfred enjoyed walking with Ivan to the public bus stop every day after school; it gave them the chance to walk and hold hands away from the prying eyes of their classmates. Normally the walk was something both looked forward to every day, but today Ivan was unusually silent and sullen. Ivan rarely spoke at school, though his English became excellent after being in America the past few months, but when it was just Alfred and he, the Russian would not stop talking. The two could talk about astronomy for hours.

Today was different. Every now and then, a worried, tense look would cross his face, and he would crush Alfred's fingers in his iron grip. The daydreaming American might not have noticed the other's anxiety if it wasn't for the pain he was receiving. "Vanya, what's wrong? You look terrible."

"Thanks солнечность (sunshine)," Ivan said, somewhat sarcastically. It had taken him ages to learn sarcasm; Alfred was quite proud of him in fact. "But I am very concerned about my sister. She called to tell me to arrive home immediately because she has something terribly important to tell me."

The American glanced up and down the street to make sure nobody they knew were watching before pressing his soft lips against Ivan's with one hand cupped against his jaw. "Call me if you need to talk about it."

Wrapping his thick fingers around Alfred's hand, Ivan gave a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

* * *

Ivan walked into his apartment to see Katyusha lying motionless on the couch. The only part of her that moved were her shoulders, shaking with violent tears. He leaned against the counter of the kitchen, waiting for her to speak.

"I am so sorry, Ivan," she whispered in a thick, teary voice, "I am so, so sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"I am… I am… Pregnant. I became worried when I missed two periods, so I took a pregnancy test, and it was positive."

Ivan sucked in an angry breath, wrathful towards the dirty man who had violated his sister after breaking into their apartment. "We will go to Skytop to get the procedure done; I will set up an appointment now," he confirmed, flipping open his phone.

"Procedure? What procedure?" she asked, confused.

Ivan gave her an _isn't it obvious_ look. "An abortion."

"No! I am not getting rid of this baby!" she skrieked, hopping up with a hand clutching protectively at her stomach.

"Katyusha," Ivan started, growing annoyed, "We simply do not have enough money for another family member. How are we to support it? I barely make enough for us as it is with all the money I give to my people."

"I can't loose this baby on purpose. It's a sin, and I can't imagine how guilty I would feel!"

"Is it not worse forcing it into such bad conditions?" he implored, stalking closer.

"Ivan, I'm not getting rid of this baby. That's my decision, and you can't change my mind."

With a snap in his self-control, Ivan wildly threw a punch; his fist sunk deeply into the wall. There was a cracking sound and a puff of powdered drywall flew into the air. Drawing away from her little brother, Katyusha held her breath wondering how far this bout of anger was going to go. He came very close to hurting Natalia and Katyusha often, and he had hit them both at least once. Though he apologized profusely after hurting them, both sisters constantly feared his cold temper.

Pulling back his fist again, Ivan looked like he was going to strike her. But he took in a deep breath and sharply turned around. He threw the door open with a loud bang, and departed for the prematurely shadowed streets he practically owned.

* * *

Alfred stood in the doorway of the kitchen, waiting for a good opportunity to interrupt Francis's cooking. The Frenchman was very serious about the culinary art, as he called it, seeing that his profession was to run an extremely successful and expensive restaurant. He loathed being bothered while cooking or dining.

"Alfred, I know you are there. What would you like?" Francis said, surprising the American slightly. How did he know he was there; did the Frenchman have eyes in the back of his head? He hadn't looked up from his soufflé for as long as Alfred had been standing there.

"Hey, can I talk to you about something? I have a problem."

"Oui," Francis said, glancing up to Alfred before his eyes returned to the dessert.

"I'm pretty sure you know about Ivan and I, umm… well…"

"Having sex?" Francis substituted. He smiled a bit, knowing how uncomfortable the American was with the topic of sex.

"Err, yeah… anyways… You knew Pa really well, so do you think he would approve of Ivan? Would he be fine with it?" Alfred asked, cheeks flushed and eyes worried, yet hopeful.

"I do not think he would befriend Ivan ever, but I think he would approve of the relationship, so long as Ivan treats you well," Francis answered thoughtfully. "But I sense there is more to you question."

"Y-yeah. Would he be fine with me dating a guy?" he asked in a rush of words. "Pa was so religious… How do you know he accepted gays?"

Francis stopped moving entirely at that last question. Unconsciously, he started shaking, his whisk hitting the ground. "He never told you? He never told you?! Merde! Je sais que il n' a jamais comprendé! Pourquoi il n' a pas comprendu? J'ai dit à il tout le temps. (Shit! I knew he never understood! Why didn't he understand? I told him all the time.)"

"What's wrong, Francis?" Alfred asked hesitantly, putting a hand on his guardian's shoulder.

"Your father was my boyfriend. I offered so many times to support the two of you, but he was far too proud for that. I loved him so much, and I told him all the time, but he never said it back. He probably just thought it meant nothing, but it did; it meant everything," Francis said bitterly, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "So trust me when I say he accepts gays."

"I'm sorry, but this helps me a lot. Thanks… dad," Alfred said, hugging a stunned Frenchman. "I've got to go talk to Ivan," he added, dashing out the door.

_He called me dad and hugged me? Alfred's never done that before,_ Francis thought to himself. He picked up the whisk and washed it off, as he listened to the American's pounding feet dash to the front door.

"Vanya!" Alfred yelled into the phone as soon as the Russian picked it up. "It's all okay now; my pa was gay too."

"It's irrelevant; please Alfred, I do not want to see you."

"What? Why the hell not?" the golden blond questioned in surprise.

"You are making me go soft; I am becoming too kind."

"But Ivan… why's being kind bad?"

"Alfred, us dating, even in secret, makes me kind and therefore weak. Being weak for even a moment could get my family, my people, or me in trouble. We cannot be anything more than friends. Good-bye." There was a notable pang of sadness in Ivan's voice, as he hung up the phone.

Francis heard the pounding feet stop just in front of the doorway after the muffled conversation ended. Slowly, Alfred slunk back into the kitchen, plopped into one of the bar chairs, and dropped his head onto the counter. "Doesn't want to date anymore, says I'm making him weak."

Walking over to the miserable American, Francis tentatively kissed the back of his head. "If you love him, and he loves you, then do **not** take no for an answer. Go talk to him."

Alfred still didn't move; he just continued to sit, dejected. Taking a rarely used approach, Francis dragged the golden blond to his feet by his uniform's collar and shoved a car key into his hand. "Go. Now."

* * *

After being sent out into the city by Francis, Alfred had no idea where to go. Ivan had refused to tell him where he was, and the American already checked his apartment. Therefore Alfred simply wandered around the Lower City, his old neighborhood. He walked from warehouses to park, remembering both the fond and terrible memories that made up his childhood.

He almost didn't recognize it, but at some point, he came upon the street where his dad was killed. Once he realized where he was, the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he began to shiver from something other than the cold, though he still blamed it on the wintry February air. He tried to pretend the image of his father lying dead in the street was not permanently imprinted on his mind.

Walking farther along the street, past the dangerous warehouses of dealers his father ordered him to never go in, Alfred could almost hear Ivan's voice on the chilly breeze. _I guess I'm just so desperate to find him that I'm hearing things_, he thought. As the golden blond walked along towards a particularly graffitied building, Ivan's voice became loud enough Alfred could almost distinguish the words being spoken. Flicking his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind spun by melancholy thoughts, Alfred realized he **could** hear Ivan speaking. His voice came from one of the unnerving storehouses.

Hesitantly creeping towards the building, Alfred cracked open the door and peered inside. Ivan paced up and down, a fear-inspiring dark cloud emanating from him and his long tan general's coat billowing out behind him. Alfred felt bad for the three terrified guys his anger seemed to be aimed towards and disgust towards the guys who looked upon their misfortune with an excited twinkle in their eyes.

Ivan suddenly stopped walking and stood right in front of the guy who appeared to be the leader of the trio. He leaned forward and growled at them with a creepy smile on his face causing them to cower in fear. Two of them fell to their knees as though begging for their lives while the third couldn't stop shaking and was frozen to the stop with a wide-eyed expression.

Stopping his rumbling reprimands, Ivan punched the two guys on their knees in the noses; an audible cracking sound was heard as their noses broke under his terrible strength. Quickly, he dealt two fast kicks to the solar plexus of both guys, leaving them on the ground gasping for air but only breathing in blood.

Alfred had seen Ivan fight on a fairly regular basis, less against him after they started… screwing, but never had it been so violent. Except for the incident related to Richard, the start to Alfred and Ivan's friendship.

Alfred's eyes widened in horror, and he made a loud yelping sound, but the snapping of the second guy's nose covered it up. Every hero fiber in Alfred's being screamed for him to get his ass over there and help those boys, but if his childhood had taught him one thing, it was: don't get in the middle of dealer's or gang's business. If the people worked under the person who was beating them, then they probably did something to deserve it. Trying to help people like that was dangerous and stupid, and contrary to popular belief, Alfred was not an idiot.

Now Ivan focused on the third guy; he was really a boy, no older than twelve. Ivan seemed to take that into account as he decided on a punishment for the boy. Too little punishment would make his people think they can get away with anything, but too much punishment could make them rise against him. Before Alfred, Ivan would have aired on the side of two much, choosing to rule with fear. Now and seeing the boy shake so much, Ivan couldn't beat him too badly. After swiping the boy's feet out from under him, he dealt a brisk kick to his stomach and let him be.

Standing over the gasping, bleeding boys, the newfound and unwanted feeling of pity rose up in the pit of Ivan's stomach. Grumbling quietly to himself in Russian, something none of his people spoke, he almost self-consciously filled three bags of ice and dropped them next to the boys.

Speaking almost too quietly for Alfred to hear said, "You are young, learn from this experience and mistake," speaking louder, he added, "This is a warning to all of you; I will not be so kind next time."

The scene Alfred watched changed everything he thought about Ivan. Suddenly in his eyes the Russian went from a being a good person in a bad situation to an abusive leader who taught others how to live this detrimental lifestyle. But he showed genuine kindness making Alfred's brain spin. The American needed to sort his mind out; he needed to talk to Matthew.

* * *

"…And that's what happened," Alfred explained to a wide-eyed Matthew.

"Holy maple! That's… something..."

"Something!? It's fucking everything!" the golden blond moaned, face shoved into his pillow.

"Don't you think you're being a bit over-dramatic?" the violet-blue eyed boy asked from the foot of the bed.

"Mattie, even if I can convince Ivan to get back together, I don't even know if I wanna!"

"Seriously," Matthew flatly asked, looking over the top of his glasses at Alfred, "We're having this whole conversation and you don't even know if you want to _date_ him or not. You obviously want to, so what's the big issue?"

"Did you _not_ hear me say how he beat up on those guys? You should've seen them; they were so scared of him. How can I be with someone who hurts people who won't even fight back?" Alfred whined obnoxiously. Matthew would have ignored him just for the whining, but he understood how important kindness was to the golden blond. He had never seen Alfred open up so quickly to someone, as he did to Ivan. It took him months to speak to Matthew or let him have any physical contact whatsoever, and he trusted the violet-blue eyed boy more than anyone else in the world. Even if Alfred hadn't said it all the time, Matthew would have known how much Ivan meant to him.

"Well, he treats us kindly. Has he ever hurt you when you guys weren't play-fighting each other?"

"N-no…"

"Then those guys probably did something to deserve it. You know he cares about you an insane amount," Matthew explained soothingly.

"But Mattie, I'm scared. We know what he does is dangerous; something terrible could happen any night. He's getting too close for something terrible to happen to him."

"You have to take that chance. Just think it over tonight, and go talk to him tomorrow."

After Alfred gave a hesitantly agreeing nod, the violet-blue eyed boy rose from his spot and squeezed his shoulder as he left the room, leave the golden-haired boy to his thoughts. Matthew hoped very much that Alfred and Ivan would get back together soon. They grounded and balanced each other perfectly, and most important, they made each other happy. That was something not always obvious in relationships.

With an ironic laugh, he realized it was the 13th, the day before Valentines Day. What a great Valentines Day gift they would make for each other.

* * *

Contrary to his normal behavior, Alfred stayed in his room the entire night in silence. He didn't even ask after dinner, beg Matthew to go to a party or anything. Francis even agreed to cook hamburgers, something he was disgusted by, in order to lure Alfred from his room. But even the alluring smell of his favorite greasy food didn't draw the golden blond from his thoughts.

Every hour or so, Matthew would go upstairs to check on Alfred. Every time he checked, the golden blond was in the same position on his back, mulling over this whole situation with Ivan. What to do, what to do…

Sometime after midnight, Matthew stopped checking in on Alfred, and a few hours later the golden blond slipped into an uneasy sleep, but he still didn't know what his decision regarding the Russian would be.

The next morning, Alfred awoke at a surprisingly early nine am. He slunk downstairs, wincing as the old wooden floorboards under his feet creaked loudly. Walking rapidly since he knew he only had a few minutes until Matthew grilling him, Alfred grabbed some chips and Coke-Cola cans and dashed back up to his room.

It took until around seven pm for Alfred to reach a conclusion. Normally he just jumped straight into things without a second thought, but in this case, Alfred was terrified to screw anything up. When Alfred took things slowly and thought stuff through, which was rarely, he took forever to come to decisions and was completely indecisive.

For the last six hours, Alfred hadn't moved; he just huddled under his bed comforter, thinking. He went from needing Ivan's love, hating who the Russian was, loving the comfort and feeling of protection he radiates, and hating how much he needed Ivan. Alfred finally settled somewhere in the middle of a few: loving how safe he feels around Ivan, loving him and needing the feelings to be reciprocated, and detesting just how much he needed Ivan. What petrified Alfred was the possibility that Ivan didn't feel the same way; that the Russian wouldn't want him back.

Knowing what he was going to do, Alfred jumped out of his bed, threw on some clothes and dashed out of his room. As he pounded through the living room where Matthew and Francis were crying together over some sappy French movie, Alfred yelled, "I'm going to see Ivan!" over his shoulder, as he snatched up his keys.

"Finally," Matthew muttered through his tears, as reality temporarily distracted himself from the heart-wrenching death of a young man's lover.

* * *

1665… 1545… 1487 Shadow Street, Lower City. Seeing the street house numbers for the block just before Ivan's apartment rush by Alfred's window as he cruised down the street, he slammed on the breaks and parked the car in a rush. Hopping out of the car, he picked up a quick pace, a light jog really, as he strode to Ivan's apartment building. He moved rapidly, not wanting the long shadows of the so aptly named street to present any trouble.

The moment Alfred laid eyes on Ivan's apartment; his light jog broke into a sprint. He ran so fast he had to grab onto the banister to swing himself around to the steps so he wouldn't fly right past the vestibule. He bolted up the flights of stairs. His footfalls were fast and heavy; one man even came out of his apartment to yell in the wake of Alfred's mad dash.

"Ivan! Ivan!" Alfred yelled, pounding on the door with a strong fist, "Open up, we need to talk!"

Moments later, he heard a clicking sound as the door was unlocked, and this loud scraping sound as the door opened.

"Go 'way," an angry voice growled, one that was keenly missing the Russian accent Alfred loved so much.

"But I need to talk to Ivan! This is his apartment, yeah?"

"Go 'way now if ya don't wanna be pasted," the voice threatened; the muzzle of a gun appearing in the crack between the door and it's frame. Alfred put his hands in the air in the most non-threating position possible and slowly backed away, keeping his wide eyes trained on the weapon.

"Alfred? What are you doing here?" Ivan asked, materializing at the top of the stairs and looking at the golden blond in surprise.

"Vanya!" Alfred cried, as he ran up to Ivan. He jumped up and looped his arms around the Russian's neck and his legs around his waist.

"Why are you here?" Ivan asked, stiff as a board. He refused to embrace Alfred back, and distrust shone through his tone.

"Please, _please_ take me back," the golden blond begged, breath pleasantly tickling Ivan's neck. "I want you; I _need_ you..."

"I need you too, солнечность (sunshine)," he murmured, finally enveloping Alfred in his arms.

"Beautiful _girl_ ya've got there, Boss," the protector mockingly snickered. The golden blond slowly turned his head around in an owl-ish yet somehow intimidating way. He fixed the protector with a glare that was partially hidden by the light reflected on his glasses .

"Josh, you are dismissed," Ivan said, focusing on the protector with a look that said _go away_.

"Will do, Boss." Josh, ignoring the Russian's menacing stare, gave a sarcastic salute as he left, "Have fun with ya boy-toy."

Forgetting all about the protector, Alfred lovingly pressed his nose against Ivan's in a sweet eskimo kiss. "So are we going to have 'fun' tonight?" he asked tantalizingly. "It is Valentines Day after all."

Tangle his fingers through his hair and slipping his hand down with the dual purpose of supporting Alfred's weight and softly squeezing his ass, Ivan kissed his mouth with a lustful beam on his face. "I'm going to take that as a yes," the American stated, smiling back. "Are you going to carry me, or am I walking to your room?"

"I should probably let you walk since you won't be able to when we are done, but I do not ever want to let you go," Ivan said, embarrassed at the about of affection he was not so subtlety hinting to.

"Good cause I'm not losing you, not in a million years."


	7. Of Knife-Wielder and Ice

Heya peoples~

Sorry it's so short! really it should have just been tacked on the the end of the last chapter, but I wasn't done editing yet. Anyways, it cuts off right before the timing of events in the story and the actual events need to be planned out instead of just whatever I feel like at the time with no end game plan.

Warnings: cursing (it's me, do you honestly expect anything less than the f word?); talk of violence (yet again, do you expect anything different from this story or me?); slight sexual situations (not much though).

Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia (shocking right? *sarcasm*)

* * *

As Natalia walked into her room, she passed by Ivan's and could hear quiet knocking, whispering and shushing noises. Shivering slightly, she assumed Ivan lost his mind again and was talking to himself.

Nearly an hour later, the sounds from Ivan's room grew in volume. Now Natalia could distinguish that there was two voices, not just Ivan carrying a conversation all by himself. Creeping towards her brother's room, knife drawn, she slowly cracked opened the door.

Peering into his room, Natalia saw someone, a guy, sitting on her brother's stomach. His white teeth flashed as he spoke. Propping himself up on his elbows, Ivan drew as close to the other guy as he could given his compromised position. The other guy closed the distance between he and Ivan in a sweet, long kiss. Sliding back, Ivan brought himself back against to the mattress, the kiss never breaking. Repositioning themselves as they moved, Ivan moved his hands to rest against the other guy's hips. From the way the sheets gripped and dripped from their bodies, Natalia knew they were naked.

_How dare someone bed big brother! He's Katyusha's and mine!_ Natalia thought, working herself into a blind rage. With a strangled yell, Natalia flew into the room, knocking the guy off Ivan. He threw his arms up over his head, as she attempted to slash at his face. Natalia heard ripping sounds as the missed strikes dug into the sheets. _Big brother's going to be upset I tore the sheets._

"Natalia! Get off Alfred, da!" Ivan yelled, dragging her off his boyfriend. "I will talk to you in a short time," the Russian said, pushing his little sister out of his bedroom with only a pillow snatched off the bed to cover his 'vital regions.'

Shooting an apologetic look at Alfred, Ivan pulled his previously discarded boxers back on and tossing Alfred's to him. He took the American's hand and leading him out of the bedroom to that bathroom to clean up the multiple slashes. Alfred shuddered slightly, as he made eye contact with the still glaring Natalia.

"Shit Ivan! What the fuck is wrong with your sister?" Alfred hissed when the bathroom door was shut behind them.

"She's very… protective of me," Ivan answered searching through the nearest cupboard for bandages.

"More like bat-shit crazy."

Ignoring the comment, Ivan gently pressed the iodine into the slashes on Alfred's arms, chest and the one wayward cut across his cheek. Since Alfred kept struggling and slapping the stinging solution away from him, the Russian ended up having to pin the American in a choke hold against the wall in to apply the medicine. Calming when the iodine was put away, Ivan wrapped the slashes with no resistance, lightly kissing each bandage when he finished.

Ivan exited the bathroom with Alfred behind him to protect the American; rightly assuming Natalia would be just outside the door waiting to attack Alfred again. The Russian kept himself between the knife-weilding girl and his boyfriend, as he pushed Alfred into his bedroom.

"Big brother, why is there another man in your bed?" Natalia snapped, still waving her long knife around.

"Natalia… Alfred and I are together," Ivan started, eyeing the knife cautiously. He glanced towards the door to make sure it was shut and dropping his voice continuing, "I love him."

"How can you say you love some boy you have known for five months when you cannot even say it to your own sisters?" she asked, face screwing up in anger.

"I do you, you and Katyusha," Ivan told her with rare, soften eyes.

"Even when you furious at her?"

"…Of course. I always love you two," he said leaning down and kissing Natalia on the forehead. "Good night sister," the Russian added, disappearing into his bedroom.

Slipping between the sheets next Alfred and pulling the golden blond close to his chest, Ivan felt truly happy, something rare and precious. He could pretend that he was normal, just lying next to the person he loved, though he would not tell the American the complete breadth of his feelings. Lying here, the Russian ignored, for a short time the fact that his life was already irrevocably destroyed.

At eleven, he became 'the man of the house,' and from that point on everything he did was for the safety of his sisters. Due to his involvement in the game, he started digging a hole for himself. The hole grew deeper and deeper, darker and darker, and unlike most, he did notice the danger while he could still save himself but chose not to in favor of short-term gains.

One night, about a year ago, some men of a competing gang got the drop on Ivan as he walked home from a protection gig. They beat him within an inch of his life and administered the scars encircling his neck. The Russian was even held hostage in their main warehouse for fifty hours while he waited for his boss to pay for his release. Well, he was told afterwards it was fifty hours, but after nearly bled to death within the first two hours of being held, he remained unconscious for the rest of the time. It took another day after being admitted to the hospital for Ivan to actually wake up; he could still see the relief on his sisters' faces. It was in that moment that Ivan realized he was never climbing out of the slick-walled hole. The constant agony in his neck and the throbbing in his back served as a constant reminder of his fall from grace.

"Hey, Vanya?" Alfred whispered quietly as though he was afraid of breaking the calm silence.

"Da?"

"Why, when you beat up those guys did you give them ice afterwards?" he questioned bluntly. "I know you don't like to talk about that stuff, but…" he trailed off.

"They willingly gave up… goods they were supposed to sell and the territory that came along with it. They needed to be taught a lesson," Ivan explained, hating having to talk about his nightlife with Alfred. The American is so good and pure that the Russian had to pretend that he was good in the golden blond's presence in order to feel as though he remotely deserved him.

Turning over to face Ivan, Alfred asked, "Why the ice then?"

"солнечность (sunshine), I am not all bad. Though my 'night self you witnessed is."

"You think I would stay if you were all bad? I wouldn't… care so much about you if you were bad, Vanya. There's so much good in you," the American mumbled, burying his face in Ivan's chest.

A long time later, well after the golden blond feel asleep, the Russian added in a hoarse voice, "If you think I'm good then you do not know what everyone else does. I have maimed, crippled and killed, and I will again. Eventually, I do not know when, someone will kill me for what I have done."

* * *

Okaaayyy author's note and crap -

I _might_ have another chapter posted within the next 3 weeks, but don't bet on it. In a little less than 3 weeks, I'll be traveling for winter vacation and I don't know if I'll have any time to write. The moment I get home, I'll start studying for 1st semester exams. At my school, exams take place over two weeks, and since this is the first time I've taken exams, I've no idea how much time (if any) I'll have to write. So in about 5 weeks, my life will be back to normal, but since I don't know if I'll have any real time for brainstorming and my head will be fried for a while, it could take _another_ 2- 3 weeks for the chapter to actually be written and posted.

**In conclusion: if the next chapter's not up within 3 weeks, it's not going up for another 1 1/2 to 2 months.**

About the plot: let's be honest here. This is a tragedy fic, and I'm not exactly the happiest writer on the planet. Even when it comes to stuff that's expected to be fluffy, I can find someway to make it sad/bittersweet (you'll notice there is not an only happy fic on my entire profile). So someone's going to die.

Alright, see you in a really f-ing long time,

~Hazel


	8. Of Baby and Hope

Ack! Sorry this is another short chapter! The topic just seriously changes after this, so it had to cut off here. This is seriously (most likely) the only chapter until about halfway through January.

Warnings: about half of my core cursing vocabulary and very minimal blood

I've got a random author's note at the end. It corresponds to purse stench that comes just before the (*1).

* * *

Ivan _hated_ the growing parasite in Katyusha's belly. He hated few people. He may dislike his competitors or the men who marred his neck, but he didn't hate them. He just felt sorry for them. He almost felt a sense of fellowship with these men derived from similar hardships.

But Ivan despised this… thing inside his sister. Though it was his own flesh and blood, it was also tainted in a way that could never be fixed.

It didn't deserve the affection title of baby. He hated how lovingly she stroked at her huge belly that was stretched, _deformed_ by that thing. The way she sung to it lovely Russian nursery rhymes in her sweet voice. The way she looked at it with such tenderness as though its existence was a blessing instead of a curse, an abomination, an entity of horror.

No one understood why he hated that thing, not even Alfred. Though Ivan wasn't surprised his American couldn't fathom what it meant to the Russian. None understood what it symbolized to Ivan: it was a constant and tactile reminder of his failure as the protector of his sisters. It had been Ivan's mission, his pledge to keep his sisters from harm, regardless of what would happen to him because of this undertaking. The existence of that thing signified that all the sacrifices Ivan made for his sisters were for naught because he failed to protect Katyusha from this fate, and it was his fault. Due to his job, she was impregnated, and Ivan could never forgive himself for that. Once it was born, it would become a living, breathing reminder of his inadequacy as a brother.

"Ivan! The baby's kicking?" Katyusha exclaimed suddenly, "Do you want to feel it?"

"Why on earth, dearest sister, would I ever want to touch _that_?" Ivan said with false sweetness.

Crestfallen, she slouched back into the couch with a protective hand over her stomach. "When are you going accept her?" He looked at her, dead silent with an icy look in his eyes.

"How do you know that… thing is a girl?"

"I'm a mother; I just know these things," she stated, smiling down on the enormous budge. "Just two more weeks and I get to meet you…" she crooned, as Ivan looked away in disgust. He was disgusted with himself.

* * *

Ivan found himself in the hospital again. He'd been fairly careful for the past few months ever since he was nearly killed right before senior year. He didn't even remember what happened; all he knew was that he awoke in an ICU room with his crying sisters, a scared-looking Alfred, and a worried Matthew. When Ivan was finally released from the hospital, he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw three round, puckered scars from .45 caliber bullets just above his heart. Ivan should have been dead again; the count was up to six escapes from death.

This occasion wasn't even a close call: just a deep cut across his hipbone that needed stitches. Ivan didn't feel the need to alert his sisters; he didn't want to worry them. He sat in the emergency room with bloody gauze pressed into his hip, as he waited for a doctor to be available to attend him.

As Ivan sat there, a morbid though crept into his mind: if he were to die, how would all the important people in his life know how he felt? What he wanted? How he planned to help them from the other side of death's curtain?

Gingerly walking to the front desk, Ivan asked, "Do you have any paper, a pen, and a clipboard?" to a young, kind-looking nurse. Normally this job in the Lower City sucked all the concern and kindness out of people; they saw too many bad people survive and too many good killed.

"Umm, yes, here you go, sir."

"Spasibo (thank you)," Ivan said, bowing his head slighting in thanks.

He settled back down, prepared to wait a long while for a 3rd rate doctor, and wrote his letters for beyond the grave.

_Dear __solnechnost _(sunshine),

_If you are reading this, I must be dead…_

A few hours later, Ivan had yet to be stitched back together, but he had finished the letters. Getting a thick rubber band, a slip of paper, and some tape from the same nurse at the front desk, Ivan bound the letter together and wrote **Grave Letters**on the paper. Of all the people he was close to, Ivan only trusted Matthew to not loose them, keep calm and remember to give out the letter when he died. The package that would soon be in Matthew's possession was complete; Ivan could relax knowing that if everything went wrong, this would make it slightly better.

* * *

"Ivan!" Katyusha yelled; the pains of labor bringing out her never seen temper. It was as rare as nuclear warfare and just as dangerous. "Fucking stop your pacing, get your ass over here and do whatever the hell you're supposed to be doing to fucking help with me giving birth! And that damn kicked puppy look you're giving me is fucking distracting!"

Hunching his broad shoulder and looking guilty, Ivan slunk back to his sister and gently gripped her hand. Whimpering, the Russian realized he took his sister's hand right as contractions started again. He felt the bones in his hand pop and he squirmed, as his sister's screams reached an unholy volume.

"You're doing great Katyusha. Just a few more pushes," the OB-GYN said encouragingly.

With another piercing scream and a squelching sound, _it_ was born.

"Mr. Bragniski, come here and hold the baby while I cut the umbilical cord."

Extracting his hand out of Katyusha's tight grip and going over to take the thing, Ivan couldn't help but gag at the sight. Can you really blame him? He doesn't like looking at vaginas, he is gay after all and it's his sister's and the _thing_ he'd been dreading the sight of for months was actually right in front of him.

It was so small so weak; Ivan could break it's neck right now. As he took it from the doctor, his hands tightened around it, he could feel its bones beginning to give under his hands when it opened its eyes. Ivan immediately halted his actions, and his breath caught in his throat; her eyes were the exact same shade of violet as his. She reminded him of a more pure version of him, one filled with hope, and he intended on keeping her that way.

"What are you naming her?" Ivan asked with a slight smile on his face.

Katyusha quickly exchanged a happy look with Natalia; he had finally accepted the baby. "What do you want to name her?"

"Nadezhda." (*1)

* * *

"Fifth time's the charm," Alfred muttered to himself, as he called Ivan once more. Tapping his foot in impatience, the American nearly threw the phone across the room when his Russian didn't pick up the phone. "Dammit, I'm just going to have to go over there."

When Alfred knocked on Ivan's apartment door, he expected to see Ivan, but instead Natalia opened the door and immediately barred her teeth and pulled out a knife.

"Hey Nat," Alfred greeted, warily watching her long knife.

"Alfred," she tensely replied back, not quite biting back a hiss.

Things had always been tense between them. Neither teen trusted the other. Natalia didn't trust Alfred to hold something as fragile as Ivan's heart in his hands, and Alfred didn't trust Natalia not to try and stab him, again.

"Where's Ivan? I've been trying to call him."

"Maybe big brother's finally come to his senses and decided to break up with you."

"Seriously, where is he?"

With a huff and a barely stifled yawn, Natalia told him, "He's on the couch with Nadezhda."

A soft, slow smile light up Alfred lips, one that was so unlike his normal flashing smile that contained only enough emotion to be considered sincere, as he looked at his rough boyfriend who's large hands nearly swallowed up the tiny infant he clutched. There wasn't any room left for the American on the couch, Ivan's legs already hung over its arms, so Alfred picked up Ivan's head and placed it in his lap. Running his fingers through his Russian's hair, Alfred played with his pale blond hair that shimmered silver in the light.

"Chto? (What) Kto? (Who)" Ivan mumbled, amethyst slits opening.

"Hey big guy." The American contorted himself to kiss him. "Why are y'all so tired?"

Supporting Nadezhda in one arm while pushing himself up with another, Ivan got himself into more or less a sitting position. He blinked rapidly and shook his head in a vain attempt to wake himself up, but nearly fell asleep again when his head unwittingly landed on Alfred's shoulder. Not bothering to hide his wide, popping yawn, Ivan said with a sleepy beam, "Katyusha gave birth last night. Meet Nadezhda," and handed Alfred the slumbering baby girl.

"She's adorable, Vanya."

"Nadezhda is hope. And I will do everything in my power to allow only good things happen to her."

* * *

*1: It's apparently a Russian girl's name that means hope as per some baby-naming site. The computer must think I'm a pregnant teenager or something with the amount of time I spend on those sites o.O And the name might look really strange (at least to English speakers or maybe just me), but put it in a Russian speaking program (or google translate), and it sounds pretty cool.


	9. Of Prom and Death

This may seem like the end, but there is one more chapter left. Also, an author's note at the bottom.

Warnings: cursing, making out (nothing heavy), drinking, and character death.

Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia or How I Met Your Mother in any form (if I did, America would end up being a total whore since I love _so_ many pairings with him AmeCan, RusAme, USUK, etc)

* * *

"Hey, Ivan?" Alfred asked, as he lied against Ivan's chest as they watched _How I Met Your Mother_.

"Da?" Ivan asked, only momentarily halting his tracing of Alfred's back and hips. The American sounded like he had an idea, and everyone knows how dangerous his ideas are.

"We've been dating for over a year now, but nobody we know knows! But I want to show you off to the world as mine," Alfred said, twisting his fingers with Ivan's and pressing them to his lips. "And prom's coming up too. Would you go with me as my date?"

Ivan's eyebrows rose comically high, practically off his forehead. "You want me to announce I'm gay in front of our very conservative Catholic classmates who already hate me?"

"Well," Alfred muttered nervously, "I'm not going to bother telling people I'm gay and all that shit if you don't. I just don't want to lie about _us_ anymore."

"…Fine. I'll, how do you say, 'come out of the closet' with you."

* * *

"Mon dieu, Matthew, Alfred, you are all grown up" Francis said tearfully, lightly dabbing at his eyes while he looked at his boys all dressed up in their rented tuxes. "Matthew, I remember when I held you for the first time! And Alfred, I remember when Ar-Arthur introduced us when you were six. You should have seen how proud you he was; Arthur was always bragging about you. You don't know how much I wish he were here to see you now, Alfred. But since he isn't, I'll say this for him."

Francis wrapped both Alfred and Matthew in a tight hug with pseudo- twins heads buried in his shoulders. "I am so proud and love you both so much. And Alfred, I am so impressed with you and Ivan; good luck."

***knock, knock***

"Eee! It's Ivan!" Alfred yelled in a high voice. His cheeks reddened when he realized what he must have sounded like. When Matthew could barely bite back his laughter, the American muttered under his breath, "I'm not the fucking girl in our relationship."

"Privet, solnechnost (sunshine). You look so good," Ivan said, tucking a chunk of Alfred's hair behind his ear and pulling him close.

"You too, big guy. You sure about this whole coming out thing?" the American asked, twisting one hand through Ivan's hair and winding the other arm around his waist.

"You have everything to loose. In any case, the only person I want to do this with is you, da?" the Russia murmured; his lips turned slightly up. Tugging on his own hair, Ivan added, "We're going to be late for dinner."

"Arrêtez-vous! We have to take pictures before you leave," Francis exclaimed, whipping out a camera. Alfred rolled his eyes while Ivan wrapped him in a hug from behind and propped his chin on his shoulder before they both smiled to the camera.

* * *

Alfred and Ivan got to prom fairly late. The American was actually a bit happy about that because by the time they went into the gym the floor was dark and nobody noticed them walk in. The couple went around the edge of the dance floor while Alfred looked around, trying to make sure none of his baseball teammates had seen them yet. It didn't matter, people were already whispering and pointing.

Dragging Alfred to the middle of the dance floor, Ivan pulled them into a small place crammed between their classmates. They were pressed right against each other. Ivan felt Alfred's heart pounding into his chest; the warmth of his arms tightly around the Russian's neck nearly seared his skin. Ivan's cold, peppermint breath washed over Alfred's cheeks, and the lovingly desirous grip of Ivan's large hands on his hips steadied the American.

_If everything goes wrong, if everyone hates me, I still have Ivan. I care about him; he cares about me, so everything's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay-_

"Hey Al," one of the American's teammates, Dan, said, punching Alfred on the shoulder and making him jump. "Are you drunk or something? Why you letting the foreign fag grind on you?"

"No, I'm not wasted," Alfred growled, finally growing a backbone regarding this whole situation. "I'm just dancing with my boyfriend."

"And if you're going to gape like that, you can go the hell away," Ivan spat with a scarily sweet smile. "So I can go back to having fun at prom with my boyfriend."

"Damn Al," he said, horror written all over his face. "When did you become gay?"

"End of last December. Now leave; you're ruining my prom," the American told him before turning back to his Russian.

Pressing Alfred against him, Ivan moved them to the fast rap music. His large hands gripped the wider hips; fingers splayed over the nicely curved ass. Slamming their lips together, they were locked in a flash of teeth and tongue, a messy battle of badly covered smiles. People watched.

Slowing the atmosphere down, the first of few slow dances started. Alfred and Ivan were uncomfortably the center of attention, as they slowly swayed together. Foreheads touching with smiles on their faces, their movements were occasionally punctured by little kisses they were painfully aware others watching in shock. The longer Alfred and Ivan danced, the less other couples danced as well, most having stopped in order to gawk at the unorthodox couple.

"I want to do this with you forever," Alfred murmured, seemingly unaware of stares and how some nearby listened in with perked ears.

"Be analyzed like bugs under a microscope?"

"Nyet," the American said with an eye roll. Ivan's lips twitched into a smile; apparently Alfred had been around his squabbling sisters, with him trying to intermediate the fights, enough to pick up some scraps of Russian. "This whole dancing-and-kissing-and-not-giving-a-shit-what-other-people-think-cause-I've-got-you thing."

* * *

"Hey Francis!" Alfred yelled into the phone, unaware of his volume level. He and Ivan sat outside the school on a bench since prom had just finished. "I think someone spiked da punch cause me and Ivan drank a hella bunch and now we can't walk straight!"

"Hold on, I'll come get you two," the Frenchmen sighed into the phone. "Where's Matthew?"

"He vent home with some Prussian bitch," Ivan slurred slightly; he was drunken enough that his accent was back in full force.

"No he didn't. They're just in da bathroom doin' whateva," Alfred countered; getting them into a small squabble about Matthew's sex life that Francis didn't want to hear.

When the Frenchman arrived at the school, there was a loose ring of upperclassmen standing nearby the school's drop-off circle. _Oh merde..._ Francis thought as he approached the kids, having a guess as to what they were eyeing. Of course it had to be his son straddling his prone boyfriend on a bench with the quote 'Jesus wept' (*1) on it. One of Ivan's hands was against the back of Alfred's thigh, and the other was on his lower back, dangerously close to being in his pants. The American hand ran over the Russian's abs while the other stroked up and down his side.

"Get in the car!" Francis cried, dragging both boys to their feet by the collars and leading the way to the vehicle in a flourish. Alfred grinned stupidly while the Russian giggled and leaned on him for support, as they stumbled to the car.

"Did you two really have to make out in that way in public?" The Frenchman admonished. He ignored the fact he did far worse in public than that and with Arthur no less. He hopped Alfred was wasted enough to not remember that particular fact.

"Prostite (sorry), Monsieur Bonnefoy. Nobody there vhen ve started," Ivan giggled again, his laughter creeping Francis out.

"Else we woulda done more, right big guy?" The Frenchman flinched slightly at the thought of the two having sex in such a public place. Sure he'd done that before but not at eighteen and nearly eighteen! Because he was barely seventeen, but that's not the point.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy, leave me at my apartment, da?"

"Aww, it's prom night! Stay the night with me, Vanya," Alfred wined, placing his hand high up on Ivan's leg.

"Nyet, solnechnost (sunshine), I have things to do tomorrov."

"Like what?"

"Check ins, mass pick-ups, a meeting with a major competitor. Nothing you vant to hear about," Ivan listed with a shrug. Nodding, Alfred leaned into the crook of Ivan's neck as the Russian absentmindedly stroked his hair.

A while later, Ivan hopped out of the car, closely followed by Alfred. "Be safe," the American whispered, concern shining in his eyes.

"I am alvays," the Russian breathed back, meeting Alfred's lips in a kiss.

Suddenly, two booming cracks went off from about twenty feet away. Ivan let out a pained gasp as agony blossomed in Alfred's shoulder.

"Dat's what you get, Russian asshole!" A voice yelled as two sets of feet pounded away.

No intelligent thoughts could form in Alfred's mind when Ivan slummed against him, pressing a hand to his heavily bloodied chest. "Through and through," the Russian murmured as he fell to his knees.

Yanking out his tie with clumsy fingers, Alfred balled the tie up and pressed it into the bleeding holes in Ivan's back. Laying him down, the American straddled him. _Sorry Vanya,_ Alfred fleetingly thought, before compressing each hollow in the Russian's chest to help slow the gush of blood.

"Francis!" The American yelled the Frenchman who had only just now scrambled out of the car after fighting with the seatbelt. "Call 911!"

"Solnechnost(sunshine), I love you more than anything else in the vorld," Ivan said, giving a strained smile and sounding sober.

"Stop talking like you're going to die. You're not going to die, dammit!" Alfred growled.

"Ve both knov it is unlikely I'll be okay," Ivan continued, sounding unnaturally calm about the growing pool of blood surrounding him. "Please say you love me once; I've never heard you say it."

"I'm not going to let you think I'm only saying it cause you're dying. There will be plenty of time for me to say it later," Alfred growled.

"Solnechnost(sunshine), both of us know I'm not going to make it," Ivan said. His voice was barely above a whisper; his eyes kept flickering shut.

"Stay awake dammit!

"Okay Ivan, I love you! I told you that I love you, you can't leave me now, asshole!" Alfred yelled. He pushed on his chest even harder, so hard he could hear bones groaning in protest. A bright smile lit up Ivan's face; his smile contradicted the deathly frozen pallet of his skin.

The siren of an emergency vehicle was close now. _Just a little bit longer,_ Alfred prayed to God. _Please just a little bit longer. I need him so fucking bad_.

The next breath Ivan took was terrifyingly shallow and wheezing. The American jerked forward and slammed his lips against those of the dying Russian. "Don't you dare leave me, bastard. I just can let another person I love get fucking killed!"

Paramedics slammed the ambulance to a stop by the pair with Francis pacing back and forth, unsure what to do. Two hopped out with a stretcher while the other one prepped drugs, bandages, and units of blood. Just before the paramedics got them, Alfred pressed his lips to Ivan's again, tongues quickly mapping out mouths for the hundredth time. Neither wanted to forget what this love felt like. Francis looked away, feeling as though he was interrupting on an intimate moment.

Groaning under his heavy frame, the paramedics heaved Ivan on to stretcher with Alfred perched on top of him, still pressing hard against his chest. Francis followed behind, hands flying about as he flirted back and forth.

It was only a ten-minute drive at the emergency pace to the hospital, but everyone knew that it could still be too long. "You're friend-" a parametric started.

"Boyfriend. He's my boyfriend," Alfred interrupted the paramedic, earning a tiny smile from Ivan, even as the others panicked, struggling to keep him stable until they arrived at the hospital.

"Right... boyfriend," the paramedic stated uncomfortable. "I have to warn you be might not make it. He's obviously very badly injured. Even if he makes it to the hospital, there is no guarantee he'll survive."

"So instead of jabbering on, you're going to do you're best to ensure he survives, oui?" Francis said in a protective tone, frowning at the paramedic.

"Y-yes, of course monsieur. Just preparing the love ones for the worst."

"Before you try to ensure the best? Get on it, maintenant (now)."

* * *

There was an aura of death in Ivan's hospital room. The only sounds punctuating the heavy silence was the fairly regular beeping of the heart monitor; the plinks of Katyusha's and Natalia's falling tears; the occasional snuffle from Alfred into his brother's shoulder; the rasping sound of Matthew and Francis rubbing their backs; and the gentle cooing of Nadezhda who had no comprehension of the despair that filled the room.

At the sound of a soft groan, five sets of eyes locked on the hospital bed. "Vanya! You're up!" Alfred yelled, scrambling over to his bed and grabbing his injured Russian's hand.

"We didn't think you would ever wake up, big brother."

"Has patient Ivan Braginski awoken yet?" A doctor asked, walking into room and glancing towards the bed.

"I have to tell you... It's unlikely you will live much longer because you're heart is so damaged-"

_Since this is the third occasion I've been shot in the chest,_ Ivan added to himself.

"I have already put you in the organ transplant list but due to your particular lifestyle-"

_Of being shot or slashed every few days._

"-you probably will not receive a heart."

_Since they don't want to fix a drug dealer and killer when they could heal an honest person._

"You have a week, maybe two," the doctor concluded before leaving.

_If only I could have longer with Alfred and Nadezhda._

The group, the makeshift family held together by Ivan, gathered around the dying teen. None seemed to accept the fact that their protector, their love, their friend, their teammate didn't have much time left in the world. That someone so strong with this young, powerful life force would soon be gone.

* * *

"Solnechnost(sunshine) you really need to go back to school. Finals are coming up and sitting here will do you no good," Ivan rasped. "Alfred?" He asked, prodding the dozing American awake.

"Hmm? No, I'm staying here. I want to be with you for as long as possible. I love you," he murmured, nestling against the Russian.

"Love you too. And I didn't want you to leave; I was just being polite," Ivan answered with a smile, wrapping his arm around Alfred's shoulders and running his fingers through his hair. _Damn I love his hair; it's so soft and silky. I love it almost as much as his curvy ass._

"Hey Ivan?" Alfred asked when the Russian halted his stroking of the American's hair. "Ivan!" he yelled in a panic; a droning beep of the heart monitor filled the air.

"Call a code!" A doctor called over his shoulder as he bustled into the room with a defibrillator and a tech. The tech dragged Alfred off Ivan's body while the doctor prepped the shock pads. "Charging 200. Clear!"

With a sickening thud, Ivan's body violently arched into the air before dropping back onto the bed. The noise sounded akin to when Arthur dropped to the ground after being shot, his life force draining out. The doctor charged the paddles again, "250. Clear!"

Alfred put his hands over his ears to block out the sickening slamming out. _Please God,_ he prayed, or was it begging? _Let him live. I need him to live! I can't loose another person I love; I don't know what I would do without him._

"Call time of death: 6:13, Wednesday June 3rd," the doctors told the tech quietly.

"No!" Alfred screamed, his voice ripping his throat. "No, No! NO! He's not dead; he'll be fine!"

"I'm sorry sir, but-"

"I said no!" The American roared; his eyes blazed with anger.

The doctor and the tech backed out of the room with their hands raised in submission; they knew its best to not get in the way of grief. A howl of agony followed them out into the hallway of the hospital, making them shiver. The scream that erupted from Alfred's mouth didn't even sound human. It reverberated through the sickly rooms and hallways, spreading into the high atriums and out into the courtyard. The wail followed the violet soul as it flew into the bright blue, sunny sky.

* * *

*1 I have no what this particular quote in the bible is referring to, but you get my point. It was just on my mind cause its the only quote my family knows from the bible (kinda sad, am I right?)


	10. Of Holding in Hearts and Leaving Behind

Hi peoples~

I have a great amount of satisfaction posting this chapter since it is the final chapter of Hidden Lives! I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Gosh, this actually makes me pretty sad, which is quite rare (...American quite, ;) Upsilon Forty-two).This is the first multi-chapter story I've written that I'm truly proud of, so thank you for reading it all the way through! In addition, thank you from the bottom of my heart to every last person who reviewed by story. The fact that you took the time to critique and praise my work means the world to me :)

I've got ideas for more fics currently being developed, but I'm not sure when they'll be written cause I only get about halfway through writing a story before I get annoyed/ bored and scrap it.

Warnings: some cursing. There may be some random details that you don't really get. So if you're all like "wtf? what does this have to do with anything?", it probably connects to something in an earlier and I'm trying to make sure everything comes full circle. (I actually read through the story again and made a list)

Disclaimers: I own nothing but the plot!

3 Hazel

* * *

You know in movies, when there's supposed to be a really intense or emotional scene for whatever reason, and the lighting and music all change? If the scene is sad, the characters start to walk really slowly? And the character(s) who are grieving are listless? Alfred thought that all the effects were just there to make the movie watchers feel more emotion. He never thought that he'd actually feel that way. When his dad died, he just became quiet, thoughtful in fact; however, when Ivan passed away, Alfred shut down.

Francis and Matthew knew Alfred would stop speaking again; it was his normal mode of grieving. The self-induced silence gave him time to remember. What they didn't expect was the heartbroken, sniveling mess that the golden-blond became.

Alfred hadn't willingly eaten anything since Ivan died. Four days into his fasting, Francis grilled him a cheeseburger, and the golden-blond only took two bites. It was the most food he'd had in days.

A week after Ivan's death, Francis and Matthew were having a heated argument about Alfred's sinking depression, about the best way to help him. Matthew defended the golden-blond by saying they should let the misery run its course. On the other hand, Francis argued that they should nip it in the bud and force him to at least be somewhat functioning. Suddenly, the Frenchman suddenly grabbed his son's arm and silenced the teen.

Alfred was creeping down the stair, one at a time, his red-rimmed eyes flicking nervously back and forth, as he moved towards the kitchen. Dashing forward like a nervous rabbit, he snatched up a sandwich and a coke from the fridge and dashed upstairs again.

"At least he's eating again, eh?"

"Mais (but), he will not stop sobbing..." Francis said, as the pair watched him dart away.

Once back inside the safety of his room, Alfred couldn't help but stroke the letter Ivan wrote to him. There was no need to read it again; he already had it memorized. The Russian knew he was going die before it happened, and so did Alfred. When Ivan whispered one night, "someone will kill me for what I have done," he thought the American was asleep. But Alfred heard every word. He still hoped that Ivan might somehow end up all right, but that apparently wasn't to be.

**Dear solnechnost **(sunshine)**,**

**If you are reading this, I must be dead. While I hope that you never read this letter that is a foolish thought. I have done too many terrible things and escaped death's grasp far too many times for my luck to not run out soon. I only wish I had more time with you, Nadezhda, Katyusha, and Natalia.**

**There are some things that must be said, especially if I never told you while I lived. The most important is: I love you so much. More than you can ever know, and more than could be expected from someone who seems as heartless as I. I never thought my dark life could be filled with such light especially from someone as perfect as you. I know I don't deserve you, and I cannot see why you chose me out of everyone, but I'm overjoyed you did. I have loved you for a long time, at least since that Valentines Day when you still came back even after I pushed you away.**

**Second, and I already instructed Katyusha of this, I am not to be buried with my scarf; you are to have it. I know the last thing you need to get over me is a constant reminder of my existence, but solnechnost, I am selfish. I want you to remember me with some happiness or bittersweet nostalgia.**

**I like to think you will grieve for me a while; I hope I am worth enough for that, but you are not to grieve forever. I expect you to go back to being that overly cheerful and optimistic American I fell for. And I expect you to fall in love with someone else. I am not worth you entire heart for the rest of your life; no one is worth that. I want you to be happy again, to recover from any pain I ended up causing you.**

**I only wish we had longer together because no amount of time is long enough to be with you. I love you, Alfred; you saved me, and for that, you will always be my hero.**

**-Ivan**

* * *

_I can't see the good. Trust me; I tried. I can't see how this will somehow be okay. How I could one day think back to the year and a half we had together and remember only my happiness, my overwhelming joy at being with Ivan, instead of the anguish that followed._

* * *

Alfred knew the cathedral on Blessed Cross's grounds was awe inspiring; he had spent four years looking upon it, but somehow, even the vivid windowpanes seemed muted. For the past year and a half, Ivan had talked about eventually going into the cathedral, but they never got around to it. Usually, they just didn't have the time, and after Ivan and Alfred started dating, the Russian didn't fell as though he should. It was fitting in Alfred's mind that Ivan at least entered the cathedral in his death.

It was Alfred's turn to speak at Ivan's memorial service. Every footstep up to Ivan's casket was heavy as though walking uphill. Laying the sunflowers down on the Russian's chest, the American's tears nearly started afresh. He looked the same as when he slept. At night when Ivan was asleep, there was a gentle smile on his face that was never there when he woke. _Maybe he's happier now,_ Alfred thought, _maybe he's found peace._

"I liked Ivan from the moment I saw him, all pink cheeks and kind eyes. The scary thing is I probably never would have met Ivan if it weren't for my brother, Matthew. If it weren't for Matthew talking him into doing hockey, and me driving them to practice, I wouldn't have ever gotten to know Ivan. I would have missed out of being with one of my best friends and the love of my life.

"Ivan could make me laugh at any moment no matter how low and was as sweet as a summer's rain. Whenever I was with him, I felt safe, like I didn't have to be strong, and I could just let my walls fall down. I can never thank him enough for that though I never told him just how much that meant to me."

The still pink bullet wound in Alfred's shoulder throbbed as he spoke. The slugs that killed Ivan went straight through his chest and bit into the American's shoulder. Since it wasn't a serious wound, a med student tried to remove the bullets but managed to mess up slightly. The resulting scar was heart-shaped.

"You know what I told Ivan? I told him that I wouldn't let him go for a million year. What the hell happened? I must have blinked for too long or something cause even though I don't want to, I've got to let him go." Quickly leaning down, Alfred pressing his mouth against Ivan's cool lips, wishing he would kiss back. "Bye Ivan."

"That was really sweet Al," Katyusha whispered after Alfred sat down. He gave a teary-eyed smile, as she kissed his temple. "You know you saved him, right?"

Head tilted in confusion, the American questioned back, "What do you mean?"

"He was going insane back when we lived in Russia. It was… bad. Everything made him loose his temper; he broke things and people left and right, all with a deranged smile on his face. After we came to America, it got better, but he was slipping back again before you. It was only after you that he showed emotions; he finally told Natalia and I he loved us. And he finally treated people kindly again. Everything good was because of you," squeezing Alfred's had, she added. "Thank you, you gave me my little brother back."

As the service went on, Ivan's soul briefly collected into the pale pink scarf that clung to Alfred's throat. The American could feel his icy warm presence. He felt a tiny stupid whispering to the scarf, but to hell with stupidity. "I miss you, Vanya; I love you."

Moments later, he heard the Russian's beautifully rough voice flit through his ears, "I love you, my solnechnost, my hero. I'll always be here, my solnechnost, my hero…"

_Ivan holds a special place in my heart nobody will ever touch because he's my Vanya, my big guy, and I'm his sunshine,_ Alfred thought while he walked back to the car. His pale pink scarf fluttered in the early summer's breeze, as he left his love behind. Though he knew this was for the best, tears still painted fresh tracks across his cheeks.

* * *

We are nothing but leaves on a dying wind.  
Our time is short.  
So we must learn when it is time to cling to those we love most,  
And when it is time to simply let them go.

-Silk Angles


End file.
